Last Man Standing
by NokuMarieDeux
Summary: Just when Jess Harper thinks he's put his traveling days behind him, he learns he may have a sibling yet living. His quest for the truth—or closure—takes him on a journey to the Florida Panhandle.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1:_ **AN ACCIDENTAL ASSIMILATION**

 **Wednesday, September 24th...** The lone young rider was fairly confident he was heading in the general direction of Laramie, expecting at some point to intersect the stage road—which he should have followed in the first place instead of opting for the scenic route and striking out west along a wagon track crossing table-flat shortgrass prairie. That he hadn't yet done so was of no great concern. He had supplies enough to last another two or three days and there was no urgency in his journey. Not yet, anyway. Water might become problematic.

The featureless high-plains terrain had gradually given way to low rolling hills on which grew clumps of bushes and isolated groves of evergreen trees. Rocky outcrops were beginning to interrupt the wide meadows of autumn-dried grama and buffalo grasses. On the not-too-distant horizon loomed a purplish-blue elevation representing the mountain range that lay between the rider's current location and his goal. It didn't look _too_ formidable... he'd seen much taller ones.

Although it was only midafternoon, the rider decided both he and his mount deserved an early rest—they'd been on the move since dawn. Scanning the immediate vicinity for a suitable campsite he noted a second, fainter track branching off to the north and disappearing downwards between folds in the terrain. Suspecting it would lead to a sheltered area, he followed it down an almost imperceptible slope into a wide, shallow canyon.

 _Perfect!_

Off to one side, mature cottonwoods flourished in clumps around the perimeter of a modest lake. The upper branches of the trees rustled in what little wind could reach them. Brilliant yellow leaves spiraled onto the understory and floated on the water. The greater portion of the canyon floor was tall grass still clinging to its last tinge of seasonal greenness. Though there were no signs of current habitation, the canyon had been in use fairly recently—there were droppings and hoofprints, both domestic and game, in abundance.

Allowing the gray gelding to drink but not dismounting, the rider judged that the lake itself was a spring-fed year-round feature rather than a stagnant seasonal watershed. Its waters were clear, with minnows flashing in the shallows, chased by pan-sized crappies.

 _Supper waiting to be caught!_

A stroke of good luck, this was, coming up on this gem affording not only water but protection from the chill autumn winds sweeping across the tableland above. Skirting the lake's eastern shore, the rider came to its run-off creek and followed it through a break in the canyon wall. Beyond lay a secondary adjunct canyon—an amphitheatre containing a catchpond. With not as many trees but plenty of grass, it was a natural containment area for livestock—as evidenced by the muddied circumference of the pond.

 **Retracing his path,** the rider followed the western shore in search of the external water source he was sure was present. Almost back to the head of the larger canyon he was rewarded with the discovery of a rill burbling over moss-covered pebbles. There he finally dismounted and took a careful look around. Someone had once maintained a residence—a farmhold—in this idyllic spot, but no longer. A few rudimentary shelters made of salvaged barn siding were tucked away in the trees. Chimney stones that had once warmed a soddy had been rearranged and mortared into a combination firepit, grill and oven with an iron grating. Scattered stone-encircled pits with remnants of old fires told their own stories—obviously he'd stumbled across an encampment for herders.

There was no way of knowing if this was open range or private property but, as no one else was using it, probably no one would mind if he did. As well as being aesthetically pleasing, the cottonwoods provided plenty of deadfall for a welcome campfire on what promised to be a crisp night, and leaf litter underneath would no doubt yield fat fishing worms. Forage for the rider's mount was plentiful and at just the right stage—not too green, not too dry, with plump grainy heads... as the gray had already discovered. Yes... it was a good place to camp. He unhooked his canteen and squatted down to fill it.

 **The gelding was grazing** close at hand, his trailing tie rope within arm's reach, when his head came up and his ears swiveled in the direction of the entrance to the canyon. After a moment of motionless attention, the animal let out a premonitory snuffle. The young man got to his feet, slinging the canteen on the horn and looping the rope around one hand just in case. Since departing Cheyenne he'd seen no other riders and no animals other than antelope, rabbits, sage hens and the occasional band of range cattle.

Although he himself couldn't sense anything amiss, he trusted his horse's instinct and swung aboard, prepared to make a speedy getaway if such were necessary—assuming he _could_. As horse and rider watched intently, a steer in a hurry appeared on the sandy trail, followed by another one and another one. The gelding quivered but made no attempt to bolt as the leader swerved to the right toward the grassy expanse. At least two dozen cattle were now streaming past in groups of three or four—all branded. And not just _one_ brand but many _different_ marks!

The young man held his mount fast as he tried to fathom the reason for the multiplicity of brands. A caterpillar of anxiety inched up the nape of his neck as a mounted man appeared at the top of the slope.

 _Rustlers!_

 **Closing in, the new rider** resolved himself into a predatory-looking black-hatted character. Pulling up several lengths away, he gave the young man the once-over. Intense eyes glittered from a grim visage darkened with sweat, dust and a two-day stubble. A black-gloved hand rested lightly on the butt of an alarmingly low-slung pistol. Not a regular cowboy's rig. Not by a long shot. Fully expecting to be grilled or drilled, the would-be camper took care to keep his face neutral and his hands in plain sight even though he wasn't wearing a gunbelt.

Instead, the man's grimy countenance creased in a friendly grin. "Got separated from your crew, didya?"

 _Crew? What crew?_

"Well, no, actually... I..."

"Never mind... good thing ya got here early... we can use the help," the man continued. "Come on."

 _Come on where? Evidently he's mistaken me for someone else..._

"Mister, I..."

His protest was cut off by the precipitous arrival of a second rider... bigger and broader of shoulder but with an equally ferocious expression and just as filthy. No friendly smile there. Clearly Rider Two wasn't in the mood for explanations of any sort.

"Dammit... we need to get settled before dark and we're running behind as it is. The others'll be here any minute."

 _The others? Good Lord... there's a gang of them?_

"I'm afraid I'm not..." the young man ventured.

Rider Number One ignored him, waving dismissively at the new arrival. "Don't go gettin' your drawers in a wad. We'll have 'em penned up in no time, now we got us a helper..." He craned his head back toward the stranger. "What's yer name?"

"It's Ja..."

"Whose outfit you with?"

"I'm not actually..."

"Don't care who you belong to, kid," Number Two interrupted, pointing a finger. "Get your butt moving and get after those cows."

 _Kid?_

 **The 'kid' did some fast thinking.** This must be a really _big_ and well-organized gang with multiple honchos and cadres if some members were so low on the totem pole other folks didn't even know who they were. And if no-name recruits were that unimportant, one or the other of these jokers were just as likely to shoot him for the sake of convenience rather than explore the possibility that he might not actually be a member.

 _Perhaps, for practicality's sake and in the interest of self-preservation, this might be a really good time to go with the flow..._

"Yes, sir," the kid said meekly... but loudly enough that they both heard.

The pair peeled away at a fast walk toward the herd, which had stopped moving forward and fallen to grazing instead. The kid slotted his horse behind theirs, close enough that he could overhear their conversation as they got the cattle moving again. They were talking about him.

"You know that kid?" Number Two was asking. "He's not Triple B—all Bartlett's hands are his sons."

"Ain't Bar K neither..." Number One was agreeing. "I know all a Keogh's men."

"I heard Gantry's got a couple of new hands over at the Rocking G..." Number Two mused.

"Must be one a Livingston's boys. He's got a passel I ain't met yet..." Number One was saying as Number Two broke off with a yell, spurring his chestnut gelding after a clutch of bunch quitters attempting a sneak sortie down a side arroyo.

The kid tapped his spurless heels against his mount's sides to indicate he wanted to fill the void left by Number Two's departure. Number One continued speaking as if he hadn't noticed a substitution of audience.

"Wonder if Ezra... Mister Livingston... got that same cook as last season... that there was some fine eatin'."

The kid made a noncommittal grunt.

"You like Mexican grub?"

"Sure," the kid lied. _In moderation—without the refried beans and hold the chilies._

 **The return of Number Two** hazing the escapees back to the herd precluded further conversation for the next forty minutes. No sooner had the first batch of cattle been installed in the secondary canyon than a second and then a third group arrived along with a dozen or so drovers almost indistinguishable from Numbers One and Two in their grubbiness.

Tagging along behind, a mule-drawn chuck wagon arrived and set up under the trees near the stone firepit. The kid was aware of tightly-organized criminal operations in urban concentrations such as Seattle and San Francisco... but out here in this big empty country? He had no idea there was such a far-flung market demand for stolen beef.

A man—obviously the cook—was orchestrating supper preparations as other men were straggling in to dismount and unsaddle their horses. As each man accepted his bedroll handed down from the wagon he veered off to lay claim to a sleeping spot. Number One co-opted the kid and two other men to string ropes around a portion of the grassy area where the remuda was to be kept.

Not being an experienced cowboy or range wrangler as such, the kid failed to comprehend how a single puny rope could deter a horse if it happened to take a notion it'd rather be elsewhere. In his world, livestock were contained behind stout barriers made of stone, wood or wire. However, he kept his lack of knowledge to himself as wranglers skillfully maneuvered a small herd of remounts into the putative enclosure. These were not wild horses. Apparently they accepted the significance of anything obstructing their line of sight and respected the boundary, peacefully dropping their heads to the grass.

 **The rope-stringers returned** to the vicinity of the chuckwagon where Numbers One and Two were dispensing assignments to men not already engaged.

"You there… what's your name…" Number Two growled, pointing at the kid and not even approaching a pleasant tone of voice. Apparently his day had not gone well. He was limping badly now that he was afoot.

"It's... Ja..." the kid started to answer but was interrupted.

"I'm putting you on second watch..."

"Okay... but when...?"

Number Two was already hobbling away, unheeding.

Number One gave the kid a rueful grin. "Don't mind him. He hadda put down a horse with a busted leg this morning. Wrenched his knee but havin' to shoot that pony hurt worse."

"I understand, sir."

"Ain't no need to 'sir' me. I work for a livin', just like you."

 _Except this isn't the work I usually do..._

"If I was you I'd go an' get my supper an' turn in early."

 _Turn in? Now? It's still daylight…_

 **The kid selected a spot** somewhat removed from everyone else and dropped his gear there before insinuating himself into the chuck line. Fortunately, the cook was not Mexican but some flavor of European—from his accent, possibly Scandinavian. Supper was a rich, tasty stew—potatoes, onions and carrots with some kind of mystery meat. _Antelope, maybe? Hopefully not horse. Thank goodness the chef isn't French._ The biscuits were excellent. The coffee was strong and hot and there was plenty of sugar and tinned milk to go around. _Cattle rustling might not be such a bad occupation after all. Unless you're caught, of course._

Cookie got a round of hurrahs upon presentation of his _pièce de résistance_ for dessert—a splendid peach cobbler. The kid was greatly impressed. _Maybe I'll wait until after breakfast to resolve the mistaken identity situation. Standing guard for a couple of hours won't kill me._

After supper, the kid rolled up in his blanket and lay there awake, wishing he hadn't lost his pocketwatch. When he'd left Cheyenne a few days ago, he'd noted that sundown occurred around seven o'clock—pretty much the same for this time of year back home, except _there_ he'd still be up until much later. Eventually he drifted off anyway. Number One had assured him that someone would wake him up in time to relieve the first shift. That someone turned out to be the cook's helper. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the kid gratefully downed a tin cup of scalding black coffee. Upon reflection he asked the helper for a second cup to take to the guard he was relieving. Hoisting his saddle, he trudged toward the remuda, wincing as hot liquid sloshed over his hand.

 **The first shift guard** turned out to be the man the kid privately continued to identify as Number One, since he didn't yet know his name. The man slipped down from his horse, radiating tiredness, seeming surprised that anyone would have the kindness to bring him coffee.

"Oh... thanks... 'preciate it. You can put your saddle on that gray over there." With his free hand he gestured toward four horses tethered at a picket line.

The kid refrained from commenting that in the dark _all_ the horses appeared gray... not to mention the men.

"You're welcome. So, what am I supposed to do?"

Number One squinted suspiciously. "You're pullin' my leg, right?"

"No. What do I do?"

Number One blinked in consternation. "Nighthawk guards the horses, that's what. Circle the perimeter, keep an eye on 'em, make sure they stay inside the ropes. Stop any varmints or rustlers from gettin' at 'em."

"I guess I can do that."

 _Rustlers mounted guards to keep other rustlers from rustling their pre-rustled stock? Whatever happened to professional courtesy and honor among thieves?_

Number One was giving him an odd look.

"Where's your rig?"

"Um... my what?"

"Your iron... your gun..."

"Oh... it's... ah... in my saddlebag? I don't usually..."

"Get it. I'll wait."

The kid returned minutes later with the unfamiliar weight of the gunbelt riding uncomfortably below his hipbones. Five pounds didn't seem like much except when it affected your balance.

Heaving his own saddle over his shoulder, Number One ambled away, shaking his head. _Old Man Livingston must be losin' it, hirin' a kid that green!_ He paused to call back, "Someone'll take over around two o'clock."

"Okay. Thanks."

The kid dawdled until three of the ghostly horses were claimed by the other nighthawks—the cattle minders—leaving the one presumably his. When no one was looking he retrieved his own gelding from the remuda—little more than a shadowy blob in the now complete dark—and tied him to a tree out of strike range. The gray was an alpha personality, more than capable of asserting his dominance in a herd. He did not play well with others.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_ **LEARNING CURVE**

 **Thursday, September 25th...** Morning came and went without the kid finding an opportunity to explain his mistaken identity to anyone—no one had time to listen. Going through the grub line at breakfast and hunkering down around one of the campfires, he gradually absorbed enough information to understand all was not as it had first seemed... to his great relief.

These folks weren't rustlers after all—it was a consortium of five separate ranchers pooling their resources to flush out strays that had somehow evaded capture during fall roundup two weeks prior. The main body of each owner's market-bound stock had already been assembled in the holding pens at the rail siding in Laramie, awaiting shipment. Numbers had come up short in the final tally—hence, this last-minute rush to make up the difference. The camp would remain in place another day or two before packing up and driving the residual herd westward toward town.

The ranch owners' names were Gantry, Keogh, Livingston, Bartlett... and Sherman—welcome news because the Sherman outfit had been the kid's destination in the first place. By lunchtime he'd figured out that the cow boss—also the only owner present in person—had to be the man he'd labeled 'Number Two'. Some of the men referred to him as Mister Sherman but others called him 'Slim'.

In any event, Mister Sherman wasn't the man the kid had come to see. _That_ man was 'Number One'—Mister Sherman's employee, Jess Harper.

Throughout the afternoon, as he performed a myriad of chores as instructed, the kid rehearsed his introductory speech... _"Hello. Pleased to meet you, Mister Harper. My name's Joseph Daniel Kelly but I go by Jay Dee. You might remember my father, Robert Kelly? Relief driver for Overland about three years ago? Goes by BobCat?"_

 **With most of the hands,** Jess'd had left camp before sunrise on one last sweep of gullies, draws and brushy ravines in search of more stragglers. In fact, the only men left besides Jay Dee himself were the three keeping the cattle contained, two guarding the remuda, the cook and his helper, and Mister Sherman. Jay Dee wouldn't have minded joining the bovine retrieval gang, but Mister Sherman had somehow sensed his lack of cowboy expertise and appointed him camp gofer.

Mister Sherman was in a marginally better mood than the day before. The cook had talked him into giving the sore knee a rest for at least twenty-four hours. To that end he was ensconced on a pile of blankets with his back against a tree, wearing only a shirt and his short drawers with the left leg rolled up to mid-thigh. Cookie had applied a compress to the injured knee, refreshing it every thirty minutes with cold spring water. The patient was staving off boredom with a book. Jay Dee later learned that Slim always carried reading material in a saddlebag because he had little patience and hated waiting with nothing to do.

At any rate, Cookie deputized Jay Dee to take over compress rotation as he and his helper needed to start supper. As the newly designated medic approached with a bucket replenished from the spring, Slim bade him sit down.

"Sorry about being grumpy yesterday. I'm not usually that rude."

"That's all right, Mister Sherman, sir..."

"Call me 'Slim'... everyone else does... didn't catch your name..."

"Oh... it's Jay Dee Kelly, sir."

"Jady?" Slim furrowed his brow.

 _I know what you're thinking... sounds girly... like Janey or something..._

"Initials JAY DEE—for Joseph Daniel..."

"I don't believe I know any Kellys. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, sir. San Buenaventura…Ventura County, north of Los Angeles..."

"Long way from home, aren't you?" A statement, not a question, though it invited response.

"Yes, sir. I'm on a mission, sort of... I was looking for Jess Harper."

 **Slim's pleasant mien** faded as a shadow crossed his face. When a youngster wearing a gun came around looking for the former gunfighter, it almost always meant trouble. _Another foolish kid wanting to make a name for himself by adding a notch to his pistol._

"Best leave him be and get on down the road."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me put it to you this way, kid..."

 _Shit. Are we back to that again?_

"You're awfully green to be thinking about taking on Jess Harper. He'd cut you down before you even _thought_ about drawing."

"Sorry... I'm not following..."

"What I'm saying is, you haven't got a snowball's chance in hell of beating him in a showdown... even if you could bait him into squaring off with you, which isn't likely. So you'd best get while the gettin's good."

Slim's thoughts were churning... _Good-looking boy. Well-spoken, too. Not the usual sort of rabble. Looks familiar... can't imagine why._

A minute of silent contemplation elapsed as Slim's words filtered through Jay Dee's head. _He thinks I'm here to fight Jess Harper?_

" **Sir, you've got it all wrong.** My father sent me here to give Mister Harper a message and some papers, not fight him."

Slim angled his head quizzically. "That right?" The boy seemed shocked at the implication... and earnest enough. "What about? And you can quit calling me 'sir'. I'm not your father."

That drew a pallid grin from the kid.

"It's a personal matter, Mister Sherman... if you don't mind."

"I _do_ mind. Jess's my best friend. There's nothing 'personal' about him I don't know. Whatever you have to say to him I'll either hear about right then... or right after."

"I don't know..." Jay Dee wavered. "Dad said you're a good man… honest and trustworthy… but…"

"That's a mighty fine recommendation... except I don't know your father."

"If you're Matthew Sherman, owner of the Sherman Ranch near Laramie, he knows you. Unless there's another one."

"No. That's me. Maybe you'd better refresh my memory..." Slim relaxed a smidgen, though still wary... and now more than a little confused. "How about letting me hold that iron while you talk..."

Jay Dee nodded and extracted the pistol from the belt he'd been instructed to wear _at all times_ , handing it over butt first.

" **My father was here** three years ago... with a cousin—Robert Cooper? They were temporary drivers for Overland stage when there was an accident near your ranch. They ended up staying for a couple of weeks? You might remember them as BobCat and PlumbBob?"

The memory of that unfortunate set of circumstances came flooding back to the rancher—Jess with a fractured leg, himself with bronchitis, his brother Andy with the measles, their 'uncle' Jonesy with sciatica, and their houseguest Kim with broken ribs. The whole ranch might've gone under had it not been for the combined efforts of friends and neighbors pulling them through. Among those who'd pitched in were those two stage drivers from California who'd borne an eerie resemblance to Jess—so remarkable that they'd been convinced there had to be a family connection somewhere and promised to look into it. To Slim's knowledge nothing had ever come of that although the two Bobs'd kept in touch sporadically since then.

"Does this have anything to do with that inheritance that Jess might... or might not... come into?"

"I believe so, Mister Sherman... but I don't know the details. I have two sealed envelopes that I'm supposed to give him... privately."

"For Pete's sake, just call me Slim, will you? And I could use some more cold water on that knee..."

As the youngster unlimbered himself from his cross-legged position and went to refill the bucket, Slim studied him, finding little in common with his dark-haired, blue-eyed friend... except maybe his build—spare and slim-hipped. With his fair hair and hazel eyes, BobCat's son must take after the mother.

" **If you're on your way** from California, how'd you end up on the wrong side of the mountains?"

The boy looked chagrined. "I didn't think to ask the conductor to wake me up when we got to Laramie so I slept right through to Cheyenne."

"You could've taken the next train back... or the stage. It would've dropped you off right at my door. Yet you turn up here on horseback. Mind if I ask how you came by a warmblood like that gray? He's no mustang."

"He sure isn't. Well, I was trying to think what to do and had some time to kill, so I went for a long walk. Saw that horse in a corral and stopped to admire him. The man who had him claimed he was plumb loco—unrideable and unsellable. Said he was gonna shoot him because he couldn't afford to feed a useless animal. I offered him forty dollars. For another ten he threw in a saddle and bridle."

"Buying an unbroken horse on impulse isn't too smart," Slim observed lightly.

"I know that. But I could see quality breeding there... not sure what, exactly. And he _was_ green-broke... enough for me to work with."

Slim nodded. "And you thought you could finish him yourself?"

"Oh, sure. Took me four days, though. I named him 'Tencendor'—after Charlemagne's warhorse."

Though he took care not to show it, Slim was impressed—not only with the boy's acquaintance with military history but his _presumed_ mastery of horseflesh... if he were as good as he _claimed_ he was. Slim and Jess had been discussing the idea of getting into the mustanging business to supplement the ranch's income. Jess was a top wrangler but Slim didn't want to take a chance on him being injured again and had argued for hiring someone else to do the dangerous work.

"Takes a lot of nerve to ride an untried horse cross-country on an unmarked trail."

"The man gave me directions," Jay Dee said defensively. "And Dad told me the ranch was twelve miles east of Laramie and thirty-eight miles west of Cheyenne. I thought, well... we could do that easy in maybe two days. They didn't say anything about mountains in between."

"Why didn't you follow the stage road?"

"Dad also said I should take the time to see the petroglyphs at the Skull Rocks. Seemed like only a minor detour from the stage road. According to the man, they should be up ahead a couple of miles... somewhere close to your ranch. Guess I'm not as good at following directions as I thought. This is the first time I've been away from home on my own."

Slim grinned. "You didn't do too bad. It's twenty miles to my ranch from here _if_ you were on the stage road... which you weren't. That runs about two miles parallel to and south of the Happy Jack trail you were following... which would've taken you right through the rocks about six miles east of my property. Eventually it connects up with the stage road three miles this side of the ranch."

"So I would've got there eventually?"

"Eventually, yes. So you're not actually working for anyone here?" Slim asked.

" **No. It was just coincidence** I happened to be here when you guys came in and assumed I belonged to one of the other ranches." Jay Dee looked around guardedly. "Shouldn't I be... um... doing some work?"

Slim grinned. "You ARE working. Someone has to look after a poor old cripple like me and Cookie has more important business—our supper! Besides, I want to hear more. Like... why are you here instead of your father? No offense, but..."

"No problem. Don't know if you remember his regular job was teaching? He just took up a new position—superintendent of Ventura Unified School District—so he couldn't get away."

"I seem to recall your father mentioning you were going on to college?"

"Yes, sir. I've been accepted to University of California in Berkeley but I'm taking a deferred year."

"I'm not familiar with that term..."

"It's when you take a year off between high school and college. They used to call it doing the 'Grand Tour'. Dad says it broadens your horizons and takes some of the itch out of your britches. I guess everyone wants to get away from home as soon as he can. Do new things. Meet new people. My parents both did it. Matter of fact, that's how they met... at the Great Exhibition of 1851 at the British Museum in London, except they were already postgraduates."

Slim could only shake his head in envy and wonder. What he would've given to be able to do such things in his late teens... before settling down to ranching… instead of going to war.

"Are you on your way to Europe, too?"

"Oh no… nothing _that_ grand yet. Maybe after college, if everything works out."

"Was this commission for your father your only reason for coming here? Or are you in a hurry to get some other place?"

"I wanted to have a look around the frontier before it's gone, then maybe push on to the East Coast by train. Originally I was thinking of taking a clipper around the Cape of Good Hope to go home... but that was before I got Tencendor. So now I guess I'll just go far as I can and see as much as I can on horseback, then turn around and go home by train—depending on how well he travels in a boxcar. As for coming _here_... that was Dad's idea, because of the convenience—on account of Laramie being right on the main line."

"I wouldn't call having to backtrack from Cheyenne _convenient._ "

"Well... it _would've_ been if I hadn't missed my stop."

Something else occurred to Slim... "I also recall, at the time, we—your father and I—decided not to tell Jess about that possible inheritance unless and until it was a sure thing. I don't believe he's ever _been_ told or he would've mentioned it."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Jay Dee shrugged. "Mom's the one who's been involved in genealogy research, not Dad. I don't think it's settled yet or I would've heard."

"Then let's not say anything about it, okay? Unless the subject comes up in whatever paperwork you've brought."

"Whatever you say."

Slim appeared to be cogitating on something so Jay Dee stopped talking out of politeness.

" **This mission... is it urgent?"**

"Not that I was told."

"So you're don't have any immediate time constraints?"

"Only in the sense I have to be home by next September. Why?"

Slim intuited that this boy was intelligent enough to grasp why he needed the favor he was about to ask... and that merited an explanation.

"I had some other business that conflicted with fall roundup, so I put Jess in charge. It's his first time and he's doing a great job... but I'd rather he wasn't distracted until it's done and the cattle on their way to Chicago, which will be in a few more days. End of the week at most. You see what I'm getting at?"

"You want me to hold off giving him the envelopes until then."

"Exactly. Would that be a problem for you?"

"I don't think so. I'd need someplace to stay in the meantime, though."

"When we're done here, you can come home with us. I'll tell him you're our new hired man. If we're lucky he won't remember the name or make the connection right off."

"Sounds like a plan. I have a question, though. If he's in charge, why are _you_ here?"

Slim made a face. "When you've always been the one making the decisions, it's awful hard to delegate authority."

 **Just before sunset** the riders returned, triumphantly driving before them a hard-won forty-three head of cattle representing nearly fifteen hundred dollars as the market currently stood. Worth a day of brutal brush-beating. Jess was in high spirits as he sauntered over to where Slim and Jay Dee were sitting on a downed log, shoveling in supper.

"What's this? Gotcha a new teacher's pet?" Jess joshed, juggling his plate and a cup of coffee as he sat on the ground.

"Got us a temporary new hand. I reckon I messed up this knee worse than I thought," Slim lied with aplomb. "We'll be needing the help."

Jess had been about to voice a complaint about Slim hiring someone without at least asking for his input, but concern for his partner's well-being shoved that aside.

"You gonna be okay 'til we get to town? Should I send someone out to get the doc?"

"No. I'll ride in the chuckwagon with Cookie and he can swing by the ranch. By the way, this here's Jay Dee Kelly... Jay Dee, meet Jess Harper."

"Jady?"

 _Shit. Not that again!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_ **LYING BY OMISSION**

 **Saturday, October 27** **th** **…** Once the chuckwagon had rolled away out of sight, Slim dropped his exaggerated limp and straightened up, grinning. "Well, here we are. Not much but it's home."

Still mounted, Jay Dee took a quick look around, withholding comment. 'Not much' was somewhat of an understatement. Sure was a far cry from what he'd expected... not to mention an alien environment compared to his family home back in California—a pole corral, a barn and a couple of outbuildings in need of paint, and a very small flat-roofed ranch house cobbled together from stone, logs and wood siding. Maybe it was bigger on the inside than it appeared from without. Houses generally were. Bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon, the compound appeared rather rustic… and peaceful.

"You gonna sit up there all day or help me put up these horses?" Slim queried.

"Yes, sir... I mean no, sir... Slim." Jay Dee slid down, hoping his legs didn't give out on him. He wasn't used to riding twenty miles at a stretch, as he'd just done on the way from Cheyenne and then from camp, trailing behind the wagon with Slim's chestnut on a lead. Trying to keep the gray from picking a quarrel with Alamo had claimed most of Jay Dee's attention on the way. Evidently knowing a troublemaker when he was tied to one, the chestnut had hung back, and Jay Dee kept having to play out more and more rope to allow a judicious distance.

But Alamo was home now, and fixated on getting to his stall and the bucket of oats he was anticipating. Surging forward, he passed too close to Tencendor, who squealed and kicked out.

"We can't have a dangerous horse around here..." Slim noted. "You sure you can keep him under control?"

"Yes, sir... I can. I will... it's only been six weeks since he was cut. He thinks he's still a stud. Dad said it takes about eight weeks for 'em to calm down—sometimes a lot longer."

Slim shrugged. "Well, we'll just have to wait and see. You want to put him in a stall or try turning him into the pasture with the others? No mares out there... just other geldings."

"I think maybe the pasture? But I'll keep an eye on him for a while to see how he acts... if that's okay with you."

"Sure... go ahead."

 **A tall young colored man** ambled around the corner of the barn, pinfeathers and speckles of blood decorating his clothing, hair and forearms. He wiped his hands on his bib overalls before offering one to Slim.

"Welcome back, Mistah Slim. How it go?"

"Good to be back, Orrie. We did better than expected... around another hundred head we weren't counting on. Jess took 'em on to the stockyards."

"Dat mighty good."

"Everything quiet around here?"

"Yazzuh. Miz Daisy had a idee you might get back today. She layin' on a mess a fried chicken foah suppah. Mike an' me been choppin' an' pluckin'..."

"Where's Mike?"

Orrie jerked his head toward the woods behind the house. "He goan take de gutbucket to de hogs out back."

Slim shuddered. He hadn't especially wanted to keep swine on the premises but an admirer of his elderly housekeeper had gifted her with a brace of piglets. She, in turn, had charged the adopted son of the house with their care and maintenance and Slim had consented to construction of a sty near the outhouse... well out of smelling distance of the house.

 **During the exchange,** Jay Dee had been busying himself with unsaddling his horse and giving the gray a quick brushdown. At the same time trying not to stare although he was curious. What few Negroes there were in Ventura County kept mostly to themselves on small freehold farms or held menial service positions in town—waiters, maids, stablehands and suchlike. He wasn't personally acquainted with any. This Orrie was neither very dark nor on the lighter side... more of a medium nut brown.

Slim turned to him. "Jay Dee, I'd like you to meet Orville Jackson, apprentice blacksmith and farrier. He's been doing me a favor by holding down the fort while I was gone."

Jay Dee held out his hand without a moment's hesitation. "Nice to meet you, Mister Jackson. I'm Jay Dee Kelly... that's initials 'JD"... for Joseph Daniel." _Damn if I'm gonna go through that 'Jady' crap again…_

"Likewise," the other reciprocated, though raising an eyebrow and shooting a sideways glance at the rancher as if to question if the new man was being sarcastic.

"Jay Dee's staying with us for a few days," Slim said, not elaborating.

"Mistah Slim, ah'll take care a Alamo so's y'all can git on inside da house. I see you done hurt yoseff. Miz Daisy goan has a fit you doan let 'er tend to it."

"Nothing serious. And thanks."

Orrie took the lead from Jay Dee and walked Alamo into the barn. Slim made a move to pick up his bedroll and saddlebags. Jay Dee put a hand out to stop him.

"I'll bring that in for you after I've turned my horse loose, then come back and get my own. Er... which way's your bunkhouse?"

"We _have_ one but we don't use it as long as there's bed space in the house... saves on firewood," Slim said. "You can throw in with Orrie for tonight. He'll be going back to town tomorrow or the next day. Unless that's a problem..." Slim let the delicate insinuation dangle.

 _Because he's colored? Is that a problem? Should it_ be _a problem?_

"It's Mike's room, actually," Slim added, "but either one can move to one of the bunks in my room—mine and Jess', that is—while you're here."

"Not problem for me but it might be for Orrie. Mom says I snore like a runaway freight train."

"So does he," Slim laughed. "You'll cancel each other out. By the way... don't let him fool you with that saltwater Geechee routine."

"Then why does he speak like that?"

"For the shock value, I imagine. It's his just way of testing out a stranger to see how he's gonna react later when he's hit with white-man English."

"I see... I think..."

"Treat him as you would anyone else and he'll drop it."

 **It took a little longer** for the gray to settle than Jay Dee had planned on. The mules and coach horses had all come forward to greet the stranger, but quickly decided he was a nuisance and drifted away to graze elsewhere. Eventually Tencendor got bored with trying to intimidate them and fell to sampling the grass.

Jay Dee was leaning against the fence, giving it a few more minutes to be reasonably sure peace was prevailing, when Orrie joined him.

"Good-lookin' hoss, dat."

"Thanks. I think so."

"He orful big."

"I like a big horse."

"Some folk say gray hoss be bad luck... mean death be comin'."

 _How long is he gonna keep this up?_

Jay Dee rolled his eyes. " _My_ folks don't put any store by superstition. Dad taught us that what's on the outside doesn't make the horse... or the man. It's what's on the inside that counts."

Apparently this was exactly the right thing to say to demolish the barrier. A smile crept over Orrie Jackson's face followed by a laugh. When he turned to offer his hand again, this time the handshake was genuine.

"Pleased to meet you, Jay Dee Kelly. I don't often meet a white boy with your smarts."

"Glad to hear you approve... 'cause it appears we're sharing quarters tonight."

"Slim gave me away, did he?"

"Yeah. But I probably would've caught on anyway."

"We'd best get on to the house. Miss Daisy... that's Missus Cooper... is strict about coming to the table properly washed up. Wouldn't be surprised if she makes you take a bath. No offense, but you sure could use one."

 **A sharp wind had sprung up** in the last hour. Jay Dee didn't realize how cold he'd got until entering the warmth of the house and dropping his gear next to Slim's on a fainting couch by the door. Orrie went straight to the fireplace to warm his backside. Jay Dee had only a moment to take in the features of what had to be the main living space when he found his hands being taken by those of a sprite of a woman. Silver hair haphazardly pinned up and escaping in tendrils framed the face of an elderly cherub with merry faded-blue eyes.

"Welcome to our home, Jay Dee..." Daisy Cooper twinkled, immediately putting him at ease by pronouncing his name correctly without any hint of amusement. "Slim's told me a little about you. I look forward to hearing the rest, but I imagine right now you'd like to get cleaned up a bit?"

"Yes, m'am, I would."

"I have to get back to my stove. Orrie'll show you where to put your things. Slim and Mike are in the washroom but you can go on back. Supper's in half an hour."

Following Orrie around the corner, Jay Dee noted the six places already set at the larger of two tables. The kitchen nook had a modern cooker with a hot water reservoir attachment just like his mother's back home, an ice box, a pie safe and a spacious work counter with a built-in galvanized tin sink and pump handle. Not anywhere near as primitive as he'd feared. There were four doors in the kitchen area: two windowed, curtained exterior doors—one opening to the front of the house and one to the side yard; one interior door standing open, beyond which was visible a descending staircase—most likely the root cellar, judging by the earthy scent arising from below; and another door accessing a narrow hallway.

Opening off the hall was the bedroom Orrie was currently sharing with Mike, just large enough for a set of bunk beds, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a study desk with a chair.

"I've been using the lower bunk but I don't mind swapping if you'd rather have it," Orrie said.

"Either one's okay with me."

"Get your shave gear and a clean shirt. You can be taking care of that while Slim and Mike are finishing up with the tub."

"There's a bathroom here?" Definitely unexpected.

"Yes indeedy. It's the coming thing, you know."

"Where do the others sleep?"

"There're two other bedrooms opening off the parlor. The smaller one up front is Missus Cooper's. The larger one in back is where Slim and Jess sleep. There's an extra set of bunk beds in there, too. Mike'll go there while you're here."

 **The square boxlike 'washroom'** had to be a relatively recent addition to the main house as the exposed wood surfaces lacked the patina of age. There was a door leading to the outside and two small casement windows set high up on opposite walls—presently shuttered for the winter—that would allow ventilation in the warmer months. In one corner squatted a cast iron stove with an iron cauldron perched on top, vapor wafting off the near-boiling water. Nearby was a stack of cordwood and several buckets.

Next to a freestanding rectangular galvanized metal sink with a pump was a single long counter beneath three small mirrors mounted equidistant on the wall. Several shave mugs and personal accoutrements occupied the counter along with two enameled washbasins and a pitcher. Underneath, a shelf held stacks of towels and a tray of soap bars. Two lines of laundry were strung up by the opposite wall.

Dead center of the room sat an enormous oval zinc tub. Clad in a towel wrapped around his waist and wreathed in whorls of steam, Slim was hunkering down to remove the bung that would allow the tub to empty directly into a drain conduit built into the floor. A smaller naked figure was toweling himself off.

Slim looked up and grinned. "By the time we're done eating there'll be enough hot water for you boys to get your baths... if you want one."

"Oh... I want one all right," Jay Dee averred gratefully. "Haven't had a decent soak in a week. My mother'd skin me alive..."

Orrie cut in. "Miss Daisy says supper's almost ready. Jay Dee and I have just enough time to wash our faces and hands and change clothes. We're both a little aromatic."

The child wrapped the towel around himself and moved forward, looking up at the newcomer. "Hi. I'm Mike Williams. Who're you?"

Jay Dee leaned down to shake hands with the kid, a cute blue-eyed blondie. _Who does he belong to?_

"I'm Joseph Daniel Kelly. You can call me Jay Dee."

"Nice to meet you, Jay Dee." Children usually caught on more quickly than adults. "Be sure and scrub your hands real good. Aunt Daisy inspects fingernails, too."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll keep that in mind."

Slim stood up and put a hand on the little fellow's shoulder. "Let's get dressed right quick and see if Aunt Daisy needs help."

The two left the room and Orrie stripped down. Dipping hot water into a bucket, he poured it into the stoppered sink. "Time's a-wasting. We don't want to keep the lady waiting."

 **Jay Dee hadn't enjoyed** a meal this tasty since he left home three weeks ago. Tender chicken battered and fried to golden perfection. Gravy and mashed potatoes. Tiny green home-canned peas in butter sauce. Canned tomatoes with late season chopped green onion. Fluffy angel biscuits light enough to float right off the table. If these folks ate this well in wintertime, imagine what meals must be like when fresh produce was available. Jay Dee was seriously considering putting in for full-time employment.

"Leave room for dessert," Daisy advised. Dessert was warm-from-the-oven apple turnovers laden with spoonfuls of clotted cream.

Orrie announced he'd clear the table and wash up. Jay Dee volunteered his services as well. Least he could do. No one objected. Miss Daisy retired to one of the rockers by the fireplace and took up her mending. Slim removed Mike to the parlor table for a brief round of tutoring before bedtime.

Manning the drying towel as Orrie rinsed each item and handed it over, Jay Dee whispered.

"Won't Mister Harper be mad he missed supper?"

"Miss Daisy put aside plenty enough for him and any unexpected guest."

"That happen often?"

"Well... I don't live here but my stepmother says this ranch is a stray magnet. Folks keep turning up for all sorts of reasons and tend to stay on."

"Like me, huh?"

"You said it. I didn't." Orrie shrugged. "Soon's we're done would be a good time to get our baths... before Jess gets in."

 **Orrie won the coin toss** to see who went first. Afterwards, he was standing at a shave station and Jay Dee luxuriating in the tub when they heard laughter filtering through the closed door to the hallway. Jess must be home at last. With regret, Jay Dee climbed out and pulled the plug. By the time Jess appeared the tub was refilled and ready for him.

Jess and Orrie greeted each other in passing. Announcing he was off to bed, Orrie closed the door behind him on his way out, leaving Jess and Jay Dee alone in the washroom. It was Jay Dee's turn to scrape off his week's worth of facial hair—sparse at best. Without it he looked more sixteen than eighteen.

Jess nodded in acknowledgment and disrobed before sinking without comment into the steaming tub. He was still conflicted about Slim's having taken on this new hand without consulting him. _Not that I have any say in the matter... bein' just the hired help myself._ Still, it bothered him some that Slim hadn't even mentioned it before doing it. Over the past two years Jess'd got so accustomed to the two of them discussing plans and ideas that he sometimes forgot he wasn't an actual partner. _Face it... even if Slim offered you a third share in the ranch, you ain't got the cash to buy in. Ain't got but four hundred in savings an' that wouldn't even buy half a dozen white-face breedin' stock..._

"Mister Harper... you okay?"

Jess became aware the boy was speaking to him. Must have made some external indication of his internal annoyance.

"Tole ya before. Call me Jess."

"Sorry. I forgot. Everything okay with you... Jess?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" _Jess, old son, no call to be rude to the kid. He ain't done nothin' wrong..._ "It's been a long day. Everything I own aches. Thanks for havin' the tub ready for me."

"You're welcome. I'm sure everyone's glad you're home safe. Miss Daisy was worried when you missed supper."

"Daisy worries about everything."

"She's been keeping your plate warm for you."

"Good cook, ain't she?"

"Excellent cook. I tried not to make a pig of myself... but it wasn't easy."

"Better cook than your Ma?" Jess asked slyly with a wink.

The kid made a face, stating flatly that his mother couldn't boil water. "Back home we have a Chinese cook... Bo Hai. His name means 'sea waves' or something like that."

"You look done in, kid," Jess observed. "You should go on to bed—day starts before dawn around here."

"I am kinda tired," Jay Dee admitted. "Guess I'll see you in the morning?"

"You bet."

After Jay Dee left the room, Jess closed his eyes and free-floated for a while with the back of his head anchored on the rim of the tub. Chipping away at a corner of his mind was that persistent hint of familiarity. That boy reminded him of someone... but who?

" **So you're both pleased** with this season's roundup?" Daisy queried, poised to pop up and fetch the apple fritters the very second Jess finished the last mouthful of his belated supper. Slim was nursing a cup of coffee while keeping Jess company.

"I am. How about you, Jess?"

Still chewing, the other fished out a folded receipt from a vest pocket and flicked it across the tabletop. "See for yourself. Countin' the bunch we brung in today, that's twenty-three head more'n last year. Hardaway said the money'll be in your account tomorrow."

Slim perused the note, nodding appreciatively. "Up five dollars a head from what we got last year, too. That _is_ good news. You did a bang-up job."

Jess swallowed and reached for the last biscuit. "Speakin' a banged up, how's the knee?"

"The knee...?" Slim fumbled, quickly recovering. "Oh... the _knee… u_ h... some better today but I think I'll need a few more days. That's why I thought it'd be a good idea to bring on Jay Dee as a temp, since he wasn't working for any of the others."

Daisy froze in mid-stride. "What knee?" she demanded. "Why haven't you said something? What happened?"

"Didn't want to worry you, Daisy. It's not that bad—twisted it when my horse went down."

"Swole up like a mushmelon yesterday," Jess contributed. "He hadda ride the chuckwagon back home from camp."

"I'd better have a look..." Daisy insisted.

"No need. I rested up all day with cold compresses on it. The swelling's gone down but it still aches a little. I promise I'll take it easy for a while."

Slim was already ruing the prevarication. Now he'd have to follow through and make it look convincing, plus have Daisy fussing over him like a cloud of gnats. The sooner Jay Dee presented that dadblamed envelope and finished his business with Jess, the better. Then they could all get on with their lives.

"If that kid knows anythin' 'bout ranch work, I'll eat my hat," Jess sighed. "But I reckon in the mornin' I can find somethin' he's good at."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_ **DEAR COUSIN**

 **Tuesday, September 30** **th** **(at the buttcrack of dawn)...** Because Jess'd been shouldering most all of the previous days' physical activities, and because it was Sunday (at least Slim thought it was... he'd lost track), Slim elected to let Jess sleep in for a change. As always, Daisy was already fluttering around preparing breakfast for her 'boys'.

 _How can_ anyone _to be that bright-eyed, cheerful and energetic so early in the morning—much less a seventy-six-year-old woman? It's unnatural…_

Around the corner and out of sight in the kitchen, Daisy couldn't possibly have seen him... or heard him stealthily exiting the bedroom. Yet—in the time it took him to tiptoe across the parlor—his coffee was already on the table.

"Good morning, Slim," Daisy sang out. "Let me see that knee."

Clad only in the short drawers he'd slept in, Slim had no excuse to deter the woman. The knee was still swollen and accompanied by some fairly impressive bruises. Nurse Daisy poked and prodded and tutted in dismay.

"After breakfast I want you to park yourself in the rocker with that leg up on the ottoman. I'll have Jess fetch some ice, and some liniment from the barn."

Resistance was futile, as Slim and the others well knew. Daisy always got her way.

"I'm letting Jess sleep in. He deserves it, the way he's been pushing himself."

"As well you should. That young man's loyalty to you is beyond measure. He'd walk through fire for you."

"Oh... I don't question his loyalty, Daisy. I just don't want to burden him with more responsibility than he's able to handle."

"For heaven's sake. He's got a brain, hasn't he? Quite a good one, at that. When has he ever let you down?"

 _Many,_ many _times... in the beginning—before your time here. But we were just getting to know each other then. You have no idea how different the Jess you know is from the firebrand that blew in here two years ago…_

Slim didn't articulate his thoughts to the woman who was convinced Jess walked on water. For that matter, she as well seemed to regard Slim himself as a candidate for sainthood. Not necessarily a comfortable perch for either of them... up there on a pedestal where one constantly had to maintain an image as a paragon of virtue. Daisy Cooper was no fool but she had a blind spot where her 'boys' were concerned.

"Should I wake up Mike?" Slim suddenly thought to ask. He'd forgot the boy had spent the night in the same room as himself and Jess. "Are there enough eggs and milk?"

"Let the child sleep. The situation's under control. Orrie and that new boy are out there right now, taking care of those chores."

"What? Already?" Slim was surprised. Jay Dee hadn't struck him as the farming type.

"Oh yes... they were up same time as me. Should be back any minute now. I'll go ahead and get the biscuits started. More coffee?"

"Yes, please..."

 **In the byre at the back of the barn,** Orrie leaned his chin on arms folded across the top slat of the partition, watching Jay Dee expertly squirt milk into a pail while Deecy stood obediently foursquare.

"How'd you get her to do that?"

"Do what?" The reply was muffled as Jay Dee had the side of his face pressed against the Jersey's flank. His hair exactly matched her fawn-colored hide.

"Stand still and let down. There's only a handful of people that cow likes enough to do that without a fuss."

"I get along with most animals. Who're the ones she likes?"

"Mike, for one, and Slim's younger brother Andy who's away at school in St. Louis. Miss Daisy... most of the time but not always. Everybody else she just tolerates because they're not afraid of her and she knows it."

"Yeah? And who might they be?"

"Aside from Slim and Jess and myself, there's Jonesy and Miss Sally. Jonesy was like a surrogate uncle. He retired and got married and moved to St. Louis, about a year before Miss Daisy came to work. Miss Sally was Slim's widow lady friend until she fell in love with someone else and moved away. She owned the livery stable and blacksmith business. My father's buying it from her on time."

"I believe I recall my Dad talking about Sally... real tall... built like a brick... er... outhouse?"

"That would be her," Orrie grinned. "She was something else. I always liked her. She treated my family like we were her own."

"How does Jess fit in here? My father stayed here a couple of weeks a while back, but he never learned much about Jess' background other than he used to be a gunfighter."

"That's kind of a long involved story. Later, I'll tell you what I know—maybe this afternoon when he's not around."

"Okay. But answer me this... is he apt to get violent if he's upset?"

"I've heard stories..." Orrie said slowly. "I've never personally been around him when he's angry but I know he's killed quite a few people."

"Remind me to not make him angry," Jay Dee muttered.

The two were already heading back to the house with their buckets of milk and basket of eggs when Daisy stepped out on the front porch.

"Get a move on, boys... I need those eggs."

 **Jess pushed back from the table,** ready to jump on those morning barn chores. First order of business: feed the stalled horses, the bull and the orphan calves. Slim held up a hand for attention.

"Before you get started, there's something we need to get out of the way first."

"Yeah... what's that?"

"Remember those Overland drivers that stayed here... the ones that looked like you and thought you all might be related?"

"Yeah... the two Bobs... PlumbBob Brackett and BobCat..." Realization dawned and Jess turned to stare at Jay Dee. "BobCat Kelly?"

Jay Dee looked both sheepish and nervous. "My father. You're the reason I'm here. I've got some messages for you."

Jess fixed a grim look at Slim. "You knew about this?"

"Just since yesterday. I thought it best to wait until the cattle business was tied up before bringing it up."

"What gives you the right to decide what's best?"

"Look... Jess. Simmer down. I have no idea if the news this kid's brought you is good or bad. I didn't want you to be distracted... or worried. I made the call. If I was wrong, I apologize. It's not his fault. I asked him to wait, is that all right?"

"No. It's not... but we'll talk about it later."

"Fair enough. Jay Dee... you wanna get those papers now?"

Retrieved from his saddlebags in the bedroom, the 'papers' turned out to be a large manila envelope, securely fastened with knotted twine and sealed with wax, and a smaller sealed postal-sized envelope. Jay Dee gently placed both on the table in front of Jess and backed away.

"Do you know what's in here?" Jess demanded, scowling.

"No, sir. I don't. All I know is the small one's a letter from my mother. She told me to tell you to please read that one first."

Jess stared at the envelope without touching it. Daisy silently arose from the table and brought a paring knife to use as an opener.

"Slim, Orrie, Mike... you, too, Jay Dee. Perhaps we should leave Jess to read his correspondence in private..."

"Oh... sure... right..." Forgetting he was supposed to be disabled, Slim stood up hastily and beckoned to the other two. "Come on. We can get started on the barn."

"Not so fast, Slim," Daisy commanded. " _Those_ three can go to the barn. You and I are going to the front porch where _you_ are going to sit."

Left alone at the table, Jess continued looking at the envelope. Wanting to know what revelations it held... and afraid to find out. He couldn't put it off forever. Carefully slitting it open, he withdrew two carefully folded sheets written in an arrow-straight elegantly-rendered hand...

" **Dear Cousin Jess,**

 _You don't know me from Adam's housecat, but we are indeed cousins by marriage. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Janette Kathryn Wheeler Kelly, wife to Robert Allan Kelly, known to you as 'Bobcat'. The courier is our eldest son, Joseph Daniel ('Jay Dee') Kelly. The information you are about to receive has been researched extensively by those of our far-flung family interested in genealogy (including myself) and independently verified by the Pinkerton National Detective Agency._

 _I have been advised you know very little of your antecedents on your mother's side. Therefore, I will attempt to provide a brief outline of your line of descent from your common ancestress, Cora Tanner._

 _Coraline Jean Watson was born in 1773 in Pennsylvania. At the age of sixteen she married James Walter Tanner and they emigrated west to Oregon Territory, later relocating to Washington Territory. Jim Tanner went into the timber business and acquired great wealth—becoming, in fact, one of Seattle's original 'lumber barons.'_

 _Jim and Cora Jean produced twelve daughters over a twenty-five-year span. The older girls were married and gone before the younger ones were even born. Nine of these children are still living._

 _Cora Jean is not the most congenial or maternal of individuals, to put it bluntly. Most of the children chose not to maintain relations with the family once they had escaped their mother's oversight through marriage. Approaching her centennial year and for reasons which shall be disclosed later in this missive, Cora Jean undertook to track down those errant daughters and their children. I won't bore you with the names and particulars of the twelve daughters other than to note the surnames of their spouses: Brackett, Darrah, Duncan, Harman, Kirby, Poke, Martin, Reed, Rudd, Smith, Wallace and Wheeler. You are first and second cousin to several dozens of their offspring, including my husband Robert._

 _His grandmother, Evelyn Melinda Tanner, was Cora Jean's first-born. Your grandmother, Martha Eugenie Tanner, was fourth-born. Having eloped with a gambler from New Orleans by the name of Roger Rudd, Martha effectively disappeared from the scene until fairly recently. Roger and Martha are long deceased. Of their two daughters, Mary Jane married a Texan named Cooper and Elizabeth Anne married a Virginian named Harper—John Lawrence Harper, your father. Of John and Elizabeth's seven children, you are the only_ confirmed _survivor. We needn't delve into that sad affair. Military records confirm the death of your brother, Lieutenant Jonathan Curtis Harper, CSA, at the Battle of Antietam, September 1862. Lieutenant Harper is listed as having been unmarried._

 _Where we (and the Pinkerton Agency) have run into a dead end is that we/they have been unable to confirm the existence or whereabouts of your eldest brother, Carlton James Harper. Military records reflect the service of a Captain Carlton J. Harper, 1st Florida Infantry Regiment, CSA, whose primary residence was given as Boggy, a settlement at Boggy Bayou on the Choctawhatchee Bay in the panhandle region of Florida. Captain Harper was captured at the Battle of Mobile Bay in August 1864 and subsequently interned for eighteen months at Fort Pickens, from which he was (presumably) repatriated as his name does not appear among records of prisoner of war deaths._

 _According to Lloyd Singletary, lead agent in the Pinkerton investigation, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Carlton Harper may still be alive and living in the surrounds of said bay or possibly on Santa Rosa Island. The area is sparsely populated, with uncounted swamps, bayous and barrier islands among which an individual could easily lose himself and thus evade future government interference._

 _It has been confirmed that, at the time of his enlistment, Captain Harper was married and the father of a female child (wife certified deceased). The Pinkerton agents were unable to ascertain if this child yet lives, or her whereabouts._

 _There is some confusion as to the status of your sister, Francine Marie (spouse Gilbert Edward Brady confirmed deceased; no issue from this union). Conflicting reports list her as having expired during an epidemic of the yellow fever. Others claim her as missing, whereabouts unknown. There is no certified death on record._

 _I have no idea if this is at all of interest to you. No doubt the following will be, however._

 _Cora Jean Tanner was a misandrist of the first order—that is, she despised men. She blamed men for every unhappiness she had ever experienced in her entire miserable life. Therefore, she directed that her entire fortune be divided equally among all her female descendants. But first, they had to be found. Which is where the family genealogists and the Pinkertons come in. The firm of Turner Metcalfe & McCutcheon, Estate Attorneys, LLP, was engaged to formalize the will and oversee distribution of proceeds when the time came._

 _On one point Cora Jean finally relented, on the advice of her attorneys, and that is: If it can be proven that there are_ _no_ _surviving females in any given line of descent, then the legacy share shall be awarded to the youngest male descendant. This codicil will no doubt be contested by all the other male descendants but Turner et al are of the opinion the will is unbreakable as it stands._

 _Cora Jean departed this earthly plane on 18 September 1873, on the eve of her centennial birthday. I regret to admit she will not be greatly missed._

 _Which brings me to the contents of the package accompanying this correspondence. In it you will find an assortment of legal instruments explaining the terms of the will and your portion of the legacy, should it devolve to you. This bequest is contingent on the following critical factors: proof of the continued existence of your sister and/or your brother's female heir, in which case the legacy will be divided between them—or proof of their deaths, in which case you shall become the sole legatee._

 _These portions are to be held in trust until the contingencies are met or until seven years have elapsed since the last confirmed sightings of your sister and/or your niece, at which time they shall be declared deceased and funds disbursed._

 _Cousin, where you take this from here is your business. Should you decide to continue the search for your siblings based on this information, know that our best wishes and hopes for success go with you._

 _Respectfully yours, Jan Kelly_

 **Jess was stunned,** shocked into incredulity. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever anticipated an inheritance from any source. That his mother—beaten-down, desperate, hopeless drudge—had sprung from wealth and privilege was completely beyond his comprehension. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. How could she have fallen so low? Even more unbelievable... _that he might_ not _be the only living member of his immediate family._

His mouth had gone dry, but when he tried to pick up his cup for a swig of coffee, his trembling hands wouldn't permit it. His heart was racing. It felt like his head was going to explode. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there until he became aware of Slim's presence, and a strong hand gripping his shoulder. Daisy had seated herself catty-corner from him and put her small warm hands over his.

"Jess? You all right?" Slim was inquiring softly.

Daisy, of course, immediately surmised—correctly—that he'd received earth-shattering news. "Whatever it is, dear... we're here for you."

Relaxing his hold, Slim came around to the other side of the table and sat down heavily. More than once he'd observed his best friend in the throes of a crisis of conscience—all the visual cues were there. More than once Slim'd had to accept that there were occasions when Jess' personal allegiance to him was transcended by a greater need.

Jess found he couldn't speak. Literally struck dumb. Silently he slid the sheets toward Slim.

"I think he wants you to read it, Slim," Daisy murmured.

"Is that what you want, Jess?"

The query was acknowledged with a faint nod. Slim read, trying desperately to contain any expression of dismay or anything that might indicate he had any prior knowledge of an inheritance. "Would you like Daisy to read this as well?"

Again the nod. Slim passed the letter over to her. When she'd finished, she replaced the sheets face down, removed her spectacles and folded her hands together. So many questions—but now wasn't the time to ask them. Instead she peered from one face to the other, ninety percent certain she kenned what was going through each of their minds.

 _ **Jess...**_ _a tiny glimmer of rekindled hope that he has an as-yet living brother somewhere in the largely unpopulated peninsular state of Florida—an exotic mélange of scrub pine barrens, palmetto groves, mangrove swamps, salt marshes, alligators, wreckers and pirates. Naturally Jess feels an overpowering need to go looking for him... sooner rather than later. And the sister he was told was dead… evidently the investigators are far from satisfied on that score. He'll be compelled to follow up on that as well. Blood is, after all, thicker than friendship._

 _ **Slim...**_ _faced with the probability that Jess is once again going to desert him, go off on some disillusioning quest in search of closure to another unfinished facet of his previous life requiring reconciliation. And yet... if the missing sibling were Andy, Slim would move heaven and earth to find him, or at least determine what had become of him. When—not if—Jess requests a leave of absence, Slim will be morally obligated to grant it._

Some time back Jess had confided to Daisy that Slim had once given him an ultimatum: commit to being a part of the family... or ride out and never look back. That had been early in their relationship, though—more than a year before Daisy had taken up residence. The issue back then was the devastating effect it would have on Andy if Jess were to once again take off for parts unknown, as evidently he'd been doing with some regularity. But Andy'd been away at school for nearly two years now and was no longer part of the equation. There was Mike, of course, but _he_ had a closer bond with Slim than with Jess. Not that Jess cared for him any less. It was just that the boy was so much younger than Andy, chronologically and developmentally, and hadn't developed the hero-worship complex that Andy had.

Pale as a ghost, Jess at length found his voice.

"What should I do?"

 **Slim took as long a time** answering, all too conscious of Daisy's unspoken plea that he do the right thing and choose the right words.

"As Missus Kelly concludes, the decision is yours to make... but I know what I'd do. Under the circumstances I think you'd best follow your heart and make traveling plans. You'll never find peace if you don't go and find out for sure."

"Remember when you told me that if I left again...?"

"That was then. This is now. And it's different... it's not about some old war buddy or trail partner you feel you owe something... or an old flame who still has a hold on you... this is _family..._ "

"You're family, too... an' I really _do_ owe you..."

"Yes, we are... and yes, you do. But we owe you something as well... and that's the promise there'll still be a place for you here when you come home to us."

Daisy's eyes radiated approval although she held her tongue. _Well said, Slim. I'm so proud of you._ What needed to be discussed now—the logistics of Jess' absence from the ranch for an extended period—was men's business... but Slim wasn't done.

"Before we make any plans... or decisions, we should probably see what's in the package. I mean, I don't have any legal expertise here but..."

Jess eyed the unopened manila envelope and shuddered. "You go ahead an' open it an' read through it first. Ain't likely I'm gonna understand all that lawyer talk, anyway. Had enough trouble followin' that share business in the letter."

"If you're sure you want me to. There might be something personal in there you'd rather I don't see."

Jess stood up then, color slowly seeping back into his face and his heart rate returning to near normal, now that the initial shock was receding.

"Nah, you read it. You, too, Daisy. What I mainly understand is that I ain't gettin' no big wad a money anytime soon so ain't no sense worryin' on it. Maybe there'll be more information about Tony... Carlton, that is... that'll help me find him. I'm goin' out t'the barn. I got work to do."

" **Well!" Daisy exclaimed** after the kitchen's side door had closed behind Jess. "That was completely unexpected."

"No... not completely," Slim admitted. "Any more coffee in that pot?"

"Of course." Daisy went to fetch it and excused its somewhat syrupy condition. "I'm afraid it's stiff enough to stand a spoon in."

"Just what I need. Thanks." Slim took the knife Jess had used to slit the smaller envelope and started cutting the strings on the larger one. "Would you mind sitting with me while I look over this stuff?"

As it happened, Daisy had a mess of beans that needed snapping so was content to keep Slim company. It wasn't long before she had a question, however.

"What did you mean... 'not completely unexpected'? Did you know about this? How long have you been sitting on this information... and why have you kept it from Jess?"

"Remember the story I told you about that time, three years ago, when we all came down with illnesses and injuries at the same time... and all the helpers that bailed us out?"

"Yes... I remember... though I'm not sure how much of that was real and how much was simply tall tale."

"Oh, it was real, all right. And those two stage drivers... the Bobs... if I hadn't known better I would've sworn they came from the same litter as Jess. Anyway, Bob Kelly—the one whose wife wrote the letter—promised he was going to get her to dig into it and see if there was a connection. I reckon we've got our answer."

"What about the inheritance?"

"He brought that up while Jess was... well, I don't recollect exactly _where_ he was but he wasn't in the room. We agreed that since we didn't know for sure there _was_ a family connection, there wasn't much point in telling him about it and getting his hopes up."

"That makes sense. Hard to believe, though, that in all this time someone hasn't let the cat out of the bag."

"There was so much else going I suppose everyone forgot about it anyway... and Daisy... I really ought to finish going through these papers."

"Sorry I interrupted... not another peep until you're done."

 **The lull lasted five minutes...**

"Slim?"

"What is it, Daisy?"

"You know he _has_ to go."

"I know."

"What if he doesn't come back? Florida's so far away... anything could happen."

"Aren't you jumping the gun a little? Nothing's decided yet. I promise you... we'll find a way to work it out..."

 _Of course he's going. That's a given. But it's up to me to make sure he has ironclad reasons to return... that he understands beyond a shadow of a doubt that here is home, where he belongs..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5:_ **GALVESTON**

 **Sunday, October 12th...** _"Dear Mom and Dad... I finally made it to the Sherman Ranch. It is very rustic. Slim and Jess are just as Dad described in looks and temperament—salt and pepper. (Not being disrespectful... they said to call them by their first names.) Dad, Slim said particularly for me to tell you the following because you would appreciate the humor. Quote: Andy is now in school in St. Louis. Jonesy and Nurse Emma got married and they also moved to St. Louis. Miss Sally and Kim (?) got married and moved to Hawai'i. Unquote. I don't see what's so funny about this._

 _The new housekeeper is a widow called Daisy Cooper. She is very old and very sweet but when she says 'jump' everyone asks 'how high?'. Kind of like you, Mom. Slim is guardian of an orphan boy named Michael. He is nine._

 _Mom... you were right. Jess got very upset when he read your letter and looked at the other papers and, yes, he decided he needed go to Texas and Florida right away to look for his sister and brother. Slim was upset, too, because he did not want Jess to leave but understands why he has to. If it were MY brother and sister I would sure want to go. I bet you can guess where this is leading and I hope you are not too mad about it._

 _Being stuck on a train for days on end has to be the most boring way to travel ever invented. I have lost track (no pun intended) of the number of times we have changed lines and cars. At first it was fun, watching the different scenery roll by, but after a while it all starts looking the same. I am sure glad I brought along enough reading material. These hard wooden benches are worse than church._

 _I would be enjoying this trip a lot more if we could have broken it up with an overnight stay in a hotel here and there and got a good night's sleep, but Jess is anxious to get to where we are going. Twice, when there was a long layover between connections, we had time to visit a bathhouse and eat in a restaurant. Sometimes there is a dining car where the food ranges from inedible to pretty good but nothing to write home about, ha ha. Vendors come up on the platform wherever we stop to take on water or exchange mail so we can still get something to eat if there is no dining car. Sandwiches, usually, and fruit._

 _Most of the time the cars are not crowded and we have two facing benches to ourselves. Jess has been teaching me to play poker and he tells lots of interesting stories about his days on the drift. (Not to worry, Mom... I like my home comforts too much to want to try my hand in the 'Big Open' as he calls it.) Also, there have been no Indian attacks or train robbers. The most exciting thing that happened was a lady had a baby and other ladies had to help her get it out as there was no doctor on board. (It was a boy. A very LOUD one.)_

 _Well, we are about to reach the end of the line in Galveston, Texas. After this we go by boat to Florida. I'll put this in the mail as soon as I see a post office. Please excuse the ink blots. Trains are a lot bumpier than you would think. Could be worse. We could be traveling by stagecoach._

 _After daytime highs in the 60s and nighttime lows in the 20s back in Laramie (and snow) the climate here sure is different. I read that the average temperatures in November in Galveston are between 80 and 70 degrees, respectively. It rains a lot and it hardly ever snows._

 _Your loving son, Jay Dee"_

" _ **Dear Slim and Daisy...**_ _We are almost to Galveston now. There are a lot more people and buildings than I remember but I was just a little boy last time I was here. I am glad Jay Dee come along for company. First thing I will find us a cheap hotel then look for a boat to take us to Pensacola which is in Florida. Also ask around about Francie as this is the last place she lived I know about. That is all for now. Hope you are all well. Tell Mike I miss him a whole lot._

 _Your friend, Jess Harper PS It is very hot and sticky here although it is October."_

 **Jay Dee was amused** at his companion's ill-concealed nervousness when their train, leaving _terra firma_ on the mainland at Virginia Point, began the two-mile transit over Galveston Bay to the island itself. No parts of the trestle bridge were visible from the windows, giving the illusion that the train was rolling on open water. Jess heaved an audible sigh of relief and mopped his brow with his bandanna when the car thunked over tracks connecting with solid ground once again.

"Didn't you tell me you'd been here before, when you were a kid?" Jay Dee asked.

"That was on a ferry. A BIG ferry..."

The remaining five miles paralleled the harborside commercial district until reaching the terminus. Even Jay Dee, no stranger to big ships thanks to his hometown's proximity to the Pacific Ocean, was impressed by the orderly ranks of wharves extending far beyond the island's shallow sandy shores to the deepwater channel between it and a smaller island to the north. Hundreds of vessels of every size and description were moored alongside. From the slight elevation of the railbed, the neatly-gridded city of Galveston could be viewed almost in its entirety, and beyond that the Gulf of Mexico glittering in the afternoon sun.

Collecting their luggage and hopping down onto the platform, the two travelers paused to stretch their limbs and get their bearings. On the far side of the passenger rotunda stood a line of cabbies unreservedly shilling for fares. The shinier, newer vehicles with the snappiest-dressed drivers and best-kept horses were quickly appropriated by faster-walking passengers.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Jay Dee asked as they made their way slowly toward their next mode of transport.

"Nope. But I know who to ask." Jess nodded toward his choice.

 **Occupying the tail end** of the line was a small dun molly mule harnessed to a two-wheeled dray that had seen better days. Standing by her head was an elderly colored man with a short-cropped gray beard. His clothes were old and patched but clean and neatly pressed and his boots shined to a military gleam. The molly, too, was older but sleek and well-fed. As the two white men approached, the elder removed his straw hat and gave a slight inclination of the head.

"H'ep you, suh?"

"Yes, sir, I reckon we sure could use some help," Jess replied in a respectful tone. Jay Dee thought he caught a flicker of surprise cross the old man's face at the 'sir'.

Jess continued. "My friend an' me, we're new here an' we need a place to stay for a few days while we look for a family relation. Someplace clean an' not too expensive, that serves up a good breakfast. Maybe close to a bathhouse? We're quiet an' we won't cause no trouble. We'd be obliged if you could recommend such a place... an' we'll be needin' a way to get there, too."

The old man looked fixedly at Jess' low-slung gunbelt, obviously mulling over the 'no trouble' assertion and finding it wanting. Still, he was there for a reason... and that reason was earning a living, just like everyone else.

"Ah gots your word on dat? No trouble?"

"Word of honor, Mister...?"

"John. John Adams Greene."

"Jess Harper. My cousin here is Jay Dee Kelly." Jess held out his hand, a bold and extraordinary gesture toward a colored man by a white one, Jay Dee knew.

"Pleased t'meetcher, Mistuh Harper, Mistuh Kelly." With great dignity, Mister Greene shook their hands and nodded toward his conveyance. "Ah mostly carries goods, not folks. Ain't no seats. Just straw. Dey room fo one moah on de driver box."

"I'll sit in the back, Jess," Jay Dee volunteered, slinging first his Gladstone bag and then Jess' into the bed of the cart before climbing in.

Jay Dee thought it odd that Jess seemed to take it for granted, without further discussion, that the old man was preparing to deliver them to appropriate overnight accommodations. _He_ would have asked questions—like where and how much and so on. _Evidently they do things differently here in Texas... and Jess is a Texan so he must know what he's doing..._

Pulling the mule out of the line, John Greene drove one block north on Santa Fe Place then turned south on 25th Street. While he and Jess conversed, Jay Dee marked their progress in case they had to find their way back on their own.

"You been here long, Mister Greene?" Jess was asking.

"Thirty year an' then some."

"So you know this area pretty well?"

"Better'n most, I 'spect."

"If you don't mind me askin', how much you usually pull in on an average day?"

"Depend on folk needin' sumpin toted some'eres. Sometime foah o' five dollah, sometime moah."

"Well... like I said, we're gonna be here a coupla days... maybe a week? I could rent a nag but I'd still need a guide. Whaddya say to five dollars a day to drive me around an' help me look?"

"Five dollah... _ev'ry_ day?" The man's tone was incredulous.

"If that ain't enough..."

"Oh... dat plenny 'nuff. But... Mistuh Harper... yo sure yo doan mind bein' seen ridin' aroun' in a mule cart wid a ole black man?"

"Mister Greene, I useta chop cotton right 'longside your folks. Pride's the least a my worries..."

 **Twenty-fifth Street ran straight** as an arrow for forty blocks before debauching onto the unimaginatively named Beach Road, which snaked along the gulf side of the island until disappearing in the distance in both directions. Between the crushed-shell roadbed and the water's edge, where moderate rollers expended themselves on a pale sandy beach, were primary dunes at the high tide line. These were low enough that they didn't obstruct the view of the water and sported tufts of spartina, panicum grass and sea oats underpinned by a ground cover of dollar weed.

On the verges of the road itself grew thick mats of pink purslane and yellow primrose and lavender and yellow morning glory. To its north side were slightly higher secondary dunes—dotted with woody shrubs of heather, rosemary and goldenrod. Interspersed between these were small rainwater swells—catchponds around which cattails flourished. And beyond these were tertiary dunes tall and stable enough to support wind-sculpted groves of live oak, saw palmettos and pines. None of the dunes were higher than twenty feet. A calm and restful view if one happened to enjoy sand and endless sky merging with endless ocean at a milky horizon.

At intervals, a break would appear in the secondary dune line, indicating an entrance to an enclave of clapboard buildings sheltering in the protection of the taller dunes. A mile or so on, John Greene turned the mule into one of these compounds containing a substantial two-story house and three smaller single-story ones, all elevated on pilings. The property was neat and well-maintained, though there was no grass. The residences white-washed with corrugated galvanized tin roofs and hurricane shutters painted red.

Stunted fruit trees graced a miniature orchard adjacent to a vegetable garden. Flowering vines cascaded from gaily painted coffee cans perched on the railings of the main house's verandah. Chickens roamed the yard. Pig and goat pens projected from the sides of a small red-painted barn.

The overall effect greatly resembled Jay Dee's home, on a smaller scale and without his mother's prized picket fences protecting the flowerbeds. Or grass. For the first time since embarking on this adventure he experienced a pang of homesickness. _This sure doesn't look like any hotel I've ever seen..._

 **A covey of bright-eyed** kinky-haired barefoot children materialized out of nowhere, in shades ranging from _café au lait_ to aubergine... happy, well-fed, inquisitive children, Jess noted. A few curious dark faces poked around corners and through lace curtains though no adults were forthcoming. Mister Greene pulled up at the bottom of the wide staircase leading up to the verandah of the big house.

"Wait chere, you doan mind..." the old man advised, nimbly hopping off the cart and up the stairs to disappear into the house.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"What're we doing here? Is this some kind of boarding house?"

"Don't know. Reckon we're fixin' to find out. Just sit tight and keep quiet."

"Okay... but..."

Jess hissed. "Whatever you do, don't go talkin' about the war or slavery. These folks might be freedmen or they mighta been slaves. We don't wanna offend any of 'em. You call everyone 'mister' or 'missus', got that?"

"Got it... but..."

"Quiet... they're comin' out."

 **Mister Greene emerged first,** holding the door open as a regal figure advanced to the top of the staircase and paused to regard the travelers with an expression exhibiting something less than approval. The woman was clad in a practical cotton prairie dress—ankle-length, scoop-necked and short-sleeved with no frills or furbelows—and over that a starched white eyelet pinafore. The embroidered tignon concealing her hair was fashioned from a silky fabric in the same moss-green hue as the dress. Below, her feet were bare. No queen ever surveyed her courtiers with more aplomb. She was by far and away the most exotic female Jess had ever beheld. Jay Dee was floored.

"If you gennemuns'd be pleased to come up..." Mister Greene indicated.

Whipping off their hats, the two men scrambled off the cart and came up the stairs to stand inspection, doing their best to appear dignified rather than blown away by this elegant creature.

"May ah present Missus Rosalie Mount. Miz Mount, dis be Mistuh Jess Harper an' Mistuh Jay Dee Kelly."

"Honored to make your acquaintance, m'am," Jess said, his voice quavering.

"Pleased to meet you, Miz Mount," Jay Dee echoed.

As the lady didn't offer her hand, neither did they... unsure of the protocol in this unusual situation. An awkward silence ensued as she took their measure through unblinking pale jade eyes flecked with gold. Before speaking, she turned to exchange murmured confidences with the old man in low tones they could barely hear and in a language they didn't comprehend.

" **I understand that you are in need** of lodgings… and assistance in locating a missing sister?" It was both a statement and a query in a soft melodious voice that flowed in the ear like the soughing of leaves in the wind.

The short hairs on the back of Jess' neck prickled. _I never mentioned nothin' 'bout no sister to that old man…_

"Yes, m'am, that's true but… I ain't sure why he brought us here… troublin' you, I mean."

An eyebrow arched just a smidgen. "No trouble. Fate, perhaps."

"Beg pardon?"

"Shall we go in?"

Without waiting for a response, Missus Mount turned and glided away. Mister Greene nodded to the visitors to follow her through a dark hallway into a spacious sitting room. In no way resembling a typical Victorian parlor with all its attendant gloom and clutter, this room was intended for comfortable enjoyment in a casual atmosphere, with overstuffed chairs and deeply upholstered settees. Good reading lamps and an abundance of books and periodicals attested to the literacy level of the home's occupants. On one wall, a sandstone fireplace rose to the ceiling. On the opposite wall, an enormous plate-glass bay window gave onto the beachfront.

Tucked into the window niche, a quartet of high-backed cushioned easy chairs were paired on either side over a low service table. Gesturing Jess toward one of them, Missus Mount took the one opposite and Mister Greene the one beside hers. **The old man** sat back with hands folded over his belly, evidently intending to let the woman take the floor and direct whatever conversation was to follow. The fourth chair remained empty as—halfway through the room—Jay Dee's attention had been diverted elsewhere.

 **Feeling like an insect under a magnifying glass,** Jess willed his hands to be still as he considered the lady's clear command of the English language, as opposed to Mister Greene's patois. _Who's this woman an' what's she want with us?_ When she spoke again he nearly jumped out of his seat.

"To answer your unasked question, Mister Harper, I was educated at the Ursuline Academy in New Orleans. In this household we speak Creole French and English interchangeably. I presume you would prefer to continue in English?"

"Oh… um… yes, m'am." _Dadgummit, kid… get over here an' help me out 'stead a gawkin' at that thingamabob…_

 **Jess' silent appeal for assistance** went unaided. Jay Dee was thoroughly engrossed in a fan with six palmate blades revolving lazily above in the high ceiling. He'd seen similar devices before—in hotels in San Francisco—but those had been punkah-style flat swinging fans hand-operated by servants. This contraption was powered by a pulley system running from the fan base to a slot in the wall. Though the newspapers had reported, just this year, the successful development over in Europe of a functioning electrical motor representing the technological wave of the future, Jay Dee wasn't aware of any practical application having yet been invented for it. What, then, was making this thing go? He was startled by a soft voice in his ear.

"Windmill. On the roof." Jay Dee turned to find himself face to face with a girl close to his own age... a very pretty girl with a flawless caramel complexion and green eyes that marked her as a relative of Missus Mount's. Sister... or daughter? A mass of blue-black curls framed her face.

"Hi. I'm Celia... Cecelia Mount."

Without thinking Jay Dee took the hand offered to him. "Jay Dee Kelly... that's initials JD for Joseph Daniel Kelly."

"I don't recognize your accent, Jay Dee. Where are you from?"

 **Jess' attention was wrenched back** to his own business by Missus Mount addressing him.

"I do hope you will excuse my initial hesitation in welcoming you. We've never before entertained white gentlemen in our home. And yes, the young lady over there enjoying the company of your companion is my daughter, Cecelia. Her father was white but he never lived here."

"M'am, I would never..."

"Of course you wouldn't, but it's easier to have these issues out in the open, is it not? Mister Mount went to his reward a decade ago during the Battle of Galveston. He left us quite well off, as you can see. I trust Mister Greene's instincts implicitly. If he says you are honorable men, than it would be an honor to have you as our guests."

Jess was truly flustered. "Oh no, m'am. We can't do that. He was 'sposed to take us to a hotel... an' you don't know us..."

"You will of course stay here with us until your business is concluded. We have extensive contacts throughout the city that I expect will prove helpful."

 **And so it was settled.** Celia was dispatched to ask two of the older boys to bring up the travelers' luggage to their rooms on the second floor. After a sumptuous luncheon served on the verandah, Jess and Jay Dee were grateful to find hot baths prepared for them in the combination bathing/laundry room off the kitchen. What was intended to be brief afternoon naps lasted until knocks on their bedroom doors alerted them to the advent of supper, which also took place outdoors.

As Missus Mount explained, one of the advantages of living on the underappreciated gulf side of the island was that the prevailing and never-failing breeze kept away the worst of the flying pests. The more populated harbor side of the island, laced with swamps and marshes, was plagued with a veritable scourge of mosquitoes and midges.

Formalities gradually eased as the evening wore on, until everyone was on a first name basis. The shirttail relatives living in the other three houses sidled around to satisfy their curiosity and be introduced. Soon the verandah was thronged with merrymakers—laughing and dancing, singing and clapping to a guitar, a harmonica and an accordion. Jess particularly was a big hit with the children... especially the little girls. Even the reserved Rosalie seemed to fall under his spell. Jay Dee made mental note on the Jess Harper Method of winning over females, fervently hoping he could remember half of it by the time he got back home to the girls of his acquaintance there.

When Jess delicately inquired as to the presence of so many unrelated children, he was informed that they were spillovers from the orphanage run by the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word. The recurring yellow fever epidemics had left so many orphans that the taxpayer-assisted facility had simply run out of space and funding. Went without saying that colored children, last to be accommodated in the public domain, were dependent on members of their own communities for shelter and sustenance.

"We got that same problem back in Laramie," Jess said. "Only it's with Injun kids, mostly smallpox an' measles."

Jess and Jay Dee tumbled into bed around midnight, thoroughly exhausted but counting their blessings that they inadvertently fallen in with such welcoming and supportive company... all because of an old man and his mule.

 **Monday, October 13th...** The next morning found them gathered for breakfast, again on the verandah. Jay Dee noted the absence of children and commented on it. Jess gave him a warning glance.

"It's Monday," Rosalie observed. "They're all in school."

"Oh... of course. I didn't... why didn't I think of that?"

"We have a little subscription school up the road... payable in goods and services as very few of our people have cash to spare. Our teachers are all volunteers, and we depend on cast-off books and materials from the public school district. We make do and we get by."

Jay Dee had also, the previous day, marked that children seemed to make up the majority of servants in the household. "And the older children... they work here for their bed and board? Just asking, not judging. Back home orphans are bound out to earn their keep. My mother says it's a Dickensian practice that should be abolished... no offense."

Jess was about to intervene in what he feared might be a dangerous conversational tack when it occurred to him that the very same treatment was condoned in Laramie.

"The children here are more fortunate than others," Rosalie admitted, "because I can afford to look after them. But yes, they are required to learn the basics of running a house or a farm. The older ones, boys and girls alike, learn how to manage the younger ones. In future, when they have homes and children of their own, they will need the knowledge they otherwise would have acquired from their parents."

"Makes sense to me," Jess said, letting a sigh of relief. The lady of the house seemed disposed to answer sensible questions and not at all offended.

"Of course, the greater hope is that the education they receive will provide a firm foundation on which to build career paths greater than menial employment. I don't pay them, as such, for the work they do, but the ones who are old enough to be assigned chores receive a small allowance. Mister Greene—who goes by 'Uncle Jack'— drives them into town once a month to make deposits in their savings accounts and make purchases. Learning money management at a young age is also beneficial."

"Miz Rosalie, it seems to me _you_ ought to be the one in charge of running the school district," Jay Dee said in admiration.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now, why don't we discuss your agenda for the day, Jess..."

"My what?"

"Your plans... what would you like to do first?"

"You got any suggestions, I'd sure like to hear 'em..."


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6:_ **RUMORS**

 **Walking out onto the verandah** and bounding down the stairs, Jess and Jay Dee found—rather than the cart they were expecting—two saddled horses being held by Uncle Jack mounted on his molly mule.

"Uh... what's this?" _Well... that was stupid…_

"Kinda look like horses to me, Jess," Jay Dee chortled. More like underfed ponies—but infinitely preferable to bouncing around in the back of a cart. One was a dappled grey mare no more than thirteen, maybe fourteen hands. The other, slightly taller and heavier, was a dun gelding with pronounced primitive markings. Both exhibited wide-set eyes over refined, concave faces, short-coupled backs and narrow chests, sloping shoulders and croups with low-set tails.

"But... where'd they come from?"

Uncle Jack grinned. "Where yo tink? Dey come from de barn, is whut."

It took Jess less than five seconds and a momentary flashback to comprehend what he was seeing and why they looked so familiar. As the war dragged on and remounts were becoming increasingly difficult to obtain, procurement officers on both sides had had to scrounge farther and farther afield to meet demands. Fine bloodstock had gone first, naturally... and then _any_ saddle-broken animals, then plowhorses and mules. As the need continued unabated, anything with four legs that could carry a man or supplies was likely to be confiscated by a desperate cavalry officer.

An unlikely source was discovered in Florida's flourishing cattle country—the so-called 'cracker horse. While disturbed by the unhappy memories the sight of these two horses had triggered, Jess was nonetheless captivated by their presence. He'd ridden three crackers in his time as a military courier and appreciated their speed as well. He'd enjoy riding one today.

Jess sure did like that dun, but—in a burst of charity—gave his cousin first choice. Being an inch taller and a bit heavier, it would have been logical for Jay Dee to take the larger horse. However, sensing Jess' preference, he opted for the grey.

Mounting up, they followed Uncle Jack out of the compound and turned left onto the beach road.

 **After listening to Jess' brief summary of his sister's presumed fate and perusing what little information** the Pinkertons had been able to acquire about Jess' sister Francine, Rosalie had offered her first suggestion.

"Says here they questioned the commandant at Pelican Spit about her husband. The man claimed he didn't have the records and didn't know where they were. Ignorant _and_ lazy!" she sniffed. "All he had to do was refer them to the garrison commander at Port Bolivar."

"Why's that?"

"Major Andresson was in command of the occupation forces after the war. I got to know him quite well through mutual business acquaintances. Not socially, of course. Known for his impeccable maintenance of paperwork and attention to detail, to the exclusion of all else. Memory of an elephant. In other words, an unmitigated tightass."

Jess had to choke back his surprise at the expletive issuing from the lips of such a gentlewoman. Jay Dee laughed out loud.

"Are you _sure_ you're not related to my Mom? You both tell it like it is."

"After retirement, Bill Andresson took up the position of lighthouse keeper over on the peninsula at Bolivar Point. He's mellowed considerably but his memory remains remarkably intact even though he drinks like a fish. Wouldn't be a bit surprised if he remembers your late brother-in-law. You'll have to take the ferry. That's about a twenty to forty-five minute crossing, depending on conditions."

"How dya know all this?" Jess inquired.

The moss-green eyes shuttered. "I know many things. For instance, how a bottle of rye whiskey improves conversation and loosens the tongue."

Rosalie Mount was dead right about that and another thing—everything Jess Harper wanted to know about his defunct brother-in-law he would hear from the former army major, swallow by swallow. No need to go poking through dusty old records.

 **Lighthousekeeping is a lonely occupation** for a widower. William Andresson was overjoyed to have a captive audience. He did indeed remember that lowlife good-for-nothing scumbucket, Private Gilbert Brady. Deprived of sergeant's stripes more than once on account of his inability to follow orders or stay sober, the man was an embarrassment to his uniform. Good riddance when he was finally posted to Fort Laramie on the frontier. With any luck, the natives would lift his scalp.

"Met his wife once... sweet young girl. Shame how he treated her... your sister, you say? Sorry to be the one to tell you, but I heard she died. He abandoned her, you know, without a penny to her name or a pot to piss in. 'Scuse the French. A week after he'd posted out she came around to my office, wanting to know if we'd seen him or knew where he was.

"Brady left before his last paycheck was issued. I gave it to his missus instead—against regulations so don't tell anyone. She was already doing poorly. As I recall, there was another outbreak of either diphtheria or yellow fever going on at the time. Never saw her again... probably died in hospital. Heard a rumor she might've killed herself out of heartbreak... but that's just hearsay. Most likely succumbed to disease like hundreds of others."

 **After that very revealing hour** with Andresson, Jess endured the return ferry trip hanging over the bow rail in a silent rage. Jay Dee and Uncle John maintained a discreet distance near the livestock pens on the stern. Heading back to the house, Jess rode on ahead, still not talking. So angry he was _unable_ to talk... or even eat lunch when it was served. Instead, claiming massive headache, he trudged upstairs and closed himself up in his room.

Rosalie, Uncle John, Celia and Jay Dee sat at the table on the verandah. The old man had nothing to contribute, having absented himself during the character assassination portion of the meeting and gone off to chat with a contemporary doing yard work around the grounds. Celia had no idea what was going on, having missed breakfast. She, too, listened but didn't speak.

"I take it the information Mister Harper received was not to his liking," Rosalie commented.

"Not hardly." Jay Dee pulled out a notebook and handed it over. "I doubt he'd mind your reading this. Visiting that lighthouse keeper was a good idea. Maybe you've got other ones?"

"Possibly. Let me read this first."

Jay Dee pecked away at his food until the woman finished reading and returned the notebook, steepling her fingers.

"How much do you know about this sister and her husband?"

"Not a whole lot... mainly just what my father learned the couple weeks he stayed there at the ranch where Jess lives... but that's another story. Dad says he heard from someone else that Jess'd lost most all his family in a house fire but doesn't like to talk about it. Jess himself told me he'd lost contact with his surviving sister but a few years ago her husband turned up at the ranch. He was an Army deserter and wanted Jess' help to escape to Canada, where Francie was supposed to meet him later in Calgary."

"And did he? Help him, that is?"

"All I know is it didn't work out. Someone else told Jess that Brady lied, that he'd abandoned Francie and she'd committed suicide. Then they got into a fight and Jess killed him."

"So what Andresson said about her possibly having killed herself corroborates what he'd already been told. No wonder he's in a state."

"Except that Jess says he read her name in a newspaper, listing victims of an epidemic in Galveston... and Andresson said he'd heard that, too."

"Either way, she's still dead."

"But there's no real proof... and he won't accept that she's gone until he has tangible evidence—a death certificate or a headstone or something."

Rosalie smiled. "My, my... you're going to make a fine attorney some day."

"Me? Oh no... no. I'm going to be an educator like my folks. I think I'd like to teach science."

"That's very commendable of you, Jay Dee. Changing the subject, Celia is taking some of the older children to the beach after school. Would you care to go along? I'm sure somewhere around here we have a bathing costume that would fit you."

 **A few hours later** Jess padded downstairs in his bare feet—something he rarely did at home. There wasn't anyone about in the front of the house. Following a hum of voices and muted laughter around to the back veranda, he found Rosalie and one of the older children efficiently beheading, shelling and deveining shrimp. Another girl was stripping husks off corn while a third was peeling potatoes and chunking them—along with bell peppers, carrots and celery—into a huge cast iron cauldron.

"Old-fashioned low-country boil tonight," Rosalie announced. "You're welcome to pitch right in and help clean these."

Jess had never cleaned a crustacean in his life although he'd once eaten lobster in a restaurant and was fond of oysters on the half shell with lemon juice and hot sauce. How hard could it be? And it would be unmannerly to refuse.

Not too hard, once he got the hang of it, except for shredding his fingers on sharp spines. In the meantime he related the results of the lighthouse visit, most of which Rosalie already knew but didn't mention.

"I reckon it was mostly a wasted trip," he concluded.

"Not at all... you learned much more than the Pinkertons were able to glean and now you have a springboard to your next search field."

"I do?"

"We have other options. Tomorrow we'll visit hospitals."

"We?"

"We. Yes. You and I. I know the right people... people to whom you might not be able to gain access on your own. Jay Dee is welcome to come although I can take notes as well as he can. He's quite competent, your cousin."

"So you already read 'em?"

"I did."

"Where is he, by the way?"

"Oh... I sent him off to go swimming with Celia and some of the children."

 _Swimming? Out there?_ Jess' eyes involuntarily swiveled toward the vast expanse of sparkling blue water shading to gray at the horizon line.

"That and clamming..."

 _What the hell is clamming?_

The conversation veered off into comparisons of life by the seaside versus living on the land-locked high plains encircled by mountain ranges. Aside from that one childhood experience, Jess had never lived near the ocean, much less swam in it. Rosalie had never lived anywhere out of range of saltwater... or seen a snow-capped peak.

 **Little by little Jess was drawn out** of his depression by Rosalie's running commentary on island subsistence and the most efficient usage of seafood. Shrimp heads and exoskeletons, for instance, weren't immediately destined for the compost heap. Instead, they went into another pot simmering on an outdoor fire pit—along with vegetable parings, fish heads and anything else with residual nutrient value. The resulting broth would be strained out through fine cheesecloth and used in soups and stews. At first repulsed, Jess came to understand this was just another version of the broth Daisy prepared from butcher bones.

The beach party returned, laden with net bags containing what appeared to be tiny, colorful triangular stones clumped together by filaments of seaweed. In their outlandish (to Jess' eyes) bathing costumes, they congregated on a wooden platform below the back verandah, showering off salt and sand under a sprinkler head attached to the wooden cistern supplying the house. Though much less revealing than Jay Dee's outfit, the girls' wet and somewhat translucent duds clung to their curves. Jess averted his eyes in embarrassment.

As Rosalie and several of the smaller children took charge of the net bags and commenced sloshing them in tubs of water. Jess stopped to investigate.

"What're them pebbles for?"

"They're not stones... they're bean clams—some people call then coquinas," Rosalie informed him. "Going into the soup along with everything else."

"Howdya pick the meat outta them little shells?"

"You don't. They go into the pot shells and all. You spit them out as you go along. Or crunch them."

"Oh."

 **Tuesday, October 14th...** Tuesdays were Celia's days to volunteer at the community school. With her mother's approval, Jay Dee was allowed to visit as an observer rather than go with Jess and Rosalie. As transportation for only two people was required, this morning's conveyance was a black two-wheel gig with the little grey mare in harness. Rosalie herself was turned out in a stylish maroon traveling suit with a veiled chapeau. Jess wished he'd brought clothing more suitable to escorting a lady about the streets of Galveston.

Their route took them northeast along the beach road until it cut inland, then due north on Eighth Street for some twenty blocks before arriving at the congregation of buildings comprising the Island City Hospital. Rosalie directed Jess to drive around to a gated service entrance with a bell to announce deliveries. The guard swung open the gate with a nod of recognition toward the veiled passenger, relocking it behind them. From this aspect, the imposing brick structure seemed more like a prison than a hospital and Jess realized his palms were sweating. As they climbed staircase after staircase to the fifth floor, only the faint scent of antiseptic and the occasional glimpse of a white-coated figure affirmed its true purpose.

"Missus Mount to see Director Atkins," Rosalie announced grandly as they arrived at a reception desk defended by a weedy whey-faced woman with thinning hair screwed mercilessly into a tight bun. The nameplate on the desk identified her as Miss Standish.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist demanded suspiciously through spectacles as thick as beer mug bottoms.

"No, but he'll see me."

"I'm afraid the director is..."

Drawing back her veil, Rosalie trained a basilisk stare on the unfortunate woman, who seemed to shrink into herself. "No need to get up. I know the way."

"I... I..." The woman whimpered as she shrank down into her chair.

"What'd you do to _her?_ " Jess whispered as they strolled down a dark corridor toward a double door at the far end.

Rosalie shrugged. "I have to deal with these official twits at every single visit. Leonard Atkins is a hard taskmaster—he goes through receptionists like green apples through a cow. Every new one thinks she sits at the right hand of the Almighty."

Giving a perfunctory knock on the door, Rosalie opened it and swept in, morphing into yet another different personality right before Jess' eyes...

"My dear Leonard... how very splendid to see you! I declare, you grow more handsome every day!"

 **A chubby balding gentleman** somewhere in his mid- to late-fifties, 'Dear Leonard' had been poring over a mound of paperwork at his extravagantly massive desk. About to launch a complaint over the intrusion of unannounced visitors into his sanctum, he jumped to his feet and scrabbled around the rosewood monstrosity to take Rosalie's Mount's proffered gloved hand, upon which he deposited a slurpy kiss. Papers fluttered and flew to the floor in his wake.

"Missus Mount! To what do I owe the pleasure? Please, please... do have a seat. I'll ring for tea..." Belatedly he noticed the presence of another male and allowed a moue of disappointment to escape before making a recovery. "Leonard Atkins, sir, director of this facility... and you are...?"

"Jess Harper... friend a Missus Mount's. She's very kindly helpin' me look for a lost relative." Jess shook the man's moist hand and took a seat. Director Atkins reestablished himself behind his breastwork.

"Any friend of Missus Mount is a friend of mine. How may I be of service?"

As Rosalie explained the purpose of their quest in exquisite 'Southern belle' style, Jess noted in amusement her finely honed employment of batting eyelashes, balletic hand gestures and tragic sighs. Entranced by her every move, the director was all but drooling on his leather desk blotter. At the conclusion of her speech, Atkins directed his response at Jess.

"You are fortunate in having a personage of Missus Mount's standing in the community aiding you in your search, young man. Normally we do not allow members of the general public access to our records. However, in this case, an exception can be made."

Director Atkins had an array of speaking tubes depending from the side of his stupendous desk. Choosing one, he summoned Miss Standish, who evidently functioned as secretary in addition to receptionist.

"Adeline, have an orderly sent up to escort Missus Mount and her companion to the Records Room, and see to it they are provided with refreshments and anything else they might require."

 **Descending six flights of stairs** to the records storage area in the basement wasn't half as arduous as the ascension. Jess maintained communications silence until they'd been installed in comfortable swivel chairs at a long work table with banks of overhead oil lamps providing brilliant illumination. The orderly trotted away to retrieve the first set of log books.

"What was that all about? Thought that joker was gonna fall on his knees an' lick your toes."

"Lenny Atkins is under the delusion that some fine day I might succumb to his charms and allow him to escort me to dinner... no doubt hoping that thereafter I might be lured to a hotel room. Somewhat on the order of a dog lurking under the dining table, hoping someone might drop a pork chop. You never know... it _might_ happen!"

"You was leadin' that ole boy on like a rooster to the choppin' block," Jess accused, smothering a laugh.

"Guilty as charged, Mister Harper."

As they waited for the man to return, Jess summoned up the courage to satisfy his curiosity about this enigmatic lady.

"Miz Mount…" he began, then faltered.

"You have a question?"

"Yes, m'am… I do… but it's kinda personal an' I sure don't want to offend you."

"You'd have to work very hard to offend me. Ask away… although I suspect I already know the question."

"Well… it's like this. I come from a poor family. Real poor. Sharecroppers. We worked the land 'longside field hands… folks like Mister Greene. You get the picture?"

"I do indeed. Slaves, you mean."

"Yes, m'am. That's what I mean. Ain't never met… someone like you before."

"And by that you mean an educated, respectable, affluent, financially independent and evidently influential woman… who also happens to be colored?"

"Yes, m'am. That's it."

"Does this bother you, Mister Harper?"

"No, m'am. I'm just… I don't understand, is all."

"Allow me to provide an encapsulated history lesson. My people have been free Creoles of color for six generations. Our family prospered in the shipping industry—primarily in the slave trade. I was married right out of convent school, to a wealthy Creole gentleman of the same social strata—a business associate of my father's. We relocated here in order to open a branch office. We lived quite well although we had little social life—as you can imagine, being unwelcome in white society. With servants to tend my home, I had little to do all day to occupy my time. So I began studying—business administration, marketing, investment strategy. All in secret, naturally, as Paul would have been mortified. When he died seven years later, I inherited everything… including his half-share of the company. Then, as now, the business world was not receptive to the idea of a female magnate so I sold out and reinvested the proceeds in a number of diverse enterprises—as a silent partner and mostly in the North. When war came and yanked the rug out from under my fellow businessmen, I was able to survive—thrive, even."

 **Three hours later they emerged** empty-handed into the shadows of the portico, waiting for the valet to bring around the gig.

"Maybe I should just give up..."

"Not yet. If I'd given it further thought, I would have realized the _other_ hospital was more likely to have taken in your sister... particularly if she were destitute at the time of her illness."

"There's another hospital?"

"Oh yes... the one run by the Catholics. It's only a few blocks away. I suggest we break for lunch and then we'll tackle them."

"Whatever you say, Rosalie."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7:_ **PAY DIRT**

 **Charity Hospital was a ramshackle collection** of clapboard buildings occupying an entire city block, interconnected by webs of covered walkways. White-habited Sisters of Charity scurried everywhere, many trundling patients in wheelchairs. The ones in black tended to stroll sedately in pairs.

 _Salt and pepper!_ Jess thought flippantly. Tethering the mare in the shade of a live oak, he gave a nickel to a small colored boy to keep watch and make sure her water bucket was kept filled.

Once again, Rosalie led the way, weaving through the maze of corridors and walkways. Here, with no clear separation between administrative areas and wards, the overpowering smells were almost overwhelming for the man who possessed only terrifying memories of time spent in a military hospital. Several times he feared his lunch was about to launch a counteroffensive. Herself unfazed, Rosalie did notice her companion wasn't faring so well.

"Take heart. We're almost there."

The nun in charge of records, Sister Luke Angeline—amply endowed in all directions and with a round jocular face—was the polar opposite of Miss Standish. The nun's standard black outfit distinguished her from the nursing staff. Casting a decidedly impious eye over Jess, she winked at her friend of many years' standing.

"Got yourself a keeper there, Rosie!"

"If only!" Rosalie snorted. "Just here on business, I'm afraid, begging for a peek at your patient records from a few years back. Mister Harper here is hoping to find what's become of his sister. We have reason to believe she was a patient here..."

"We keep records by name as well as chronologically and by department. Facilitates cross checking. Do you happen to know her complaint at the time? Was she, for instance, a maternity intake?"

"We're fairly sure it was epidemiological in nature."

"Oh dear. That covers rather a large number of patients... thousands, in fact. Do you have a specific time frame that would help narrow it down?"

"Three or four years ago, if that helps."

"Frankly, not a bit. But we have to start somewhere." Sister Luke turned to bellow at some unseen assistant elsewhere in the office. "Sister Agnes... take over for me. If anyone needs me I'll be in the archives." Stepping out from behind the counter, the nun scooped up a ring of keys and beckoned to them to follow.

 **Charity Hospital's records storage** , though far more extensive than the public hospital's, lacked the comforts that Jess and Rosalie had earlier enjoyed. Hard wooden chairs, cramped desks and inferior lighting. To her credit, Sister Luke undertook to do the legwork, huffing and puffing as she brought out one ledger after another.

Jess' butt was already numb and his eyes burning when, only an hour into their search, he yelped in excitement. "Found 'er!"

The two women peered over his shoulder as he pointed to 'Brady, Francine H.—preceded by intake date and followed by age and diagnosis, listed as 'acute hemorrhagic fever'. But, as frequently occurs with such moments of success, it was short-lived.

"Where's the rest of it?" he complained. The next column, which should have listed discharge date... or other disposition, was blank... as was every other patient's who'd been registered on that date.

"What happened to these people, Sister Luke?" Rosalie queried. "Where did they go?"

"I was afraid of this... and I'm sorry I can't give you anything more substantial. I was away on retreat for three months... along with many of the older sisters who have since retired or gone to their rewards. Both hospitals were dealing with a fresh outbreak of yellow fever and diphtheria when a hurricane struck. I returned to utter chaos. Most of the buildings were destroyed, many patients perished—drowned in their beds or washed out into the bay. The survivors were removed to emergency shelters throughout the city, wherever buildings still stood. In the confusion, many of those who died went unrecorded. It was assumed that the ones who didn't were released to family or other caregivers. Those, too, were not recorded. The only reason these records weren't destroyed is that at the time they were maintained on an upper floor in a brick building."

"So what you're saying is that there's no proof Francine Brady died... or might still be alive?" Rosalie felt terribly sorry for Jess, whose face was a mask of woe.

"I'm so sorry. The only other suggestion I can offer is that you check the New City Cemetery... which is also known as the Yellowfever Graveyard. All recoverable bodies were interred there, the identifiable ones with markers. You might hear stories that large numbers of the deceased were taken out to the bay and dumped, but no one's ever stepped forward to confirm that."

Advising Jess that their next step would be visiting the cemetery— _all_ the cemeteries if necessary—Rosalie bade the nun goodbye and thanked her for her assistance. Once they got home, Jess was again so distraught he declined supper and went straightaway to bed.

 **Wednesday, October 15th...** The next morning found the gig rolling northwards, more or less, toward the wharf district. Though she could have chosen a more direct and less congested route to the mid-town cemetery, Rosalie had an ulterior motive for detouring along the harborfront. Jess was in such a sullen, withdrawn mood that she shooed him over to the passenger side of the bench seat and took the reins herself. She was hoping that a more leisurely drive would give him time to get over it.

Rosalie pointed out the sights as they zigzagged through the central business district known as 'the Strand'... the handsome Customs House in the Greek-revival style, the newly-constructed three-story Cotton Exchange, the block of offices housing cotton buyers, shipping agents and attorneys. Post-war Galveston was regaining, at a furious pace, its former prominence in the world of international oceanic trade.

Jogging along the harborside drive and dodging freight wagons and drays of every description, they passed the wharves reserved for passenger ships. Several ships, both steam- and sail-powered, were that week discharging hordes of German immigrants bound for new lives in the interior of Texas... or so Rosalie had read in the _Houston Telegraph_.

Farther west down the line, stacks of cotton bales were being fed into the holds of transoceanic freighters. A good dozen more lay at anchor in the bay, awaiting open berths. Rosalie observed that she'd recently made a killing in cotton futures.

Jess heard none of it, lost in his own well of despair. At last they arrived at their destination. Occupying the equivalent of twelve city blocks, the rambling 'Broadway' cemetery was actually a consolidation of seven previously autonomous graveyards, separated by avenues wide enough to accommodate a horse and buggy. The 'New City'... or 'Yellow Fever'… graveyard lay in the southwest quadrant.

Rosalie parked the buggy and opted to walk with Jess along row after row of headstones... until it became clear he intended to march through the entire allotment. Recognizing the futility of even attempting to deter him, the woman repaired to the gig, where she pulled up the retractable hood for shade. Watering the mare from a canvas bucket stowed in the tiny underseat boot, Rosalie settled herself on the padded bench seat, adjusted the veil screening her face from the everpresent flying pests, and thumbed to her place in the book she'd been reading and thought to bring along. It was going to be a long morning.

 **As Jess moved from one section** to the next, Rosalie moved the gig up so that she was never more than a half-section behind. Lunchtime came and went. The mare was getting restless—the bucket had run dry and she'd already polished off the contents of her nosebag. Rosalie was pretty hungry herself. Jess had to be starving, with no supper the night before and having picked at his breakfast. Even at a distance she could see he was limping badly. She was about to call him back when he returned of his own accord. She moved over so he could climb aboard.

Without speaking, Jess pulled off his boots to reveal ugly blisters on his heels and the tops of his toes. "Reckon I overdone it," he admitted, grimacing. Cowboy boots weren't made for walking.

"I reckon you have," Rosalie agreed, chucking the mare into motion. "It's going to take a week or more before you can wear shoes again."

"Well, I was done here anyway."

"No joy?"

"Nope. She ain't here. She ain't anywhere."

No amount of commiseration was going to cheer up this man. It was time to start to putting into gear the next phase of the great sibling search.

 **Jess was absolutely miserable** during the days it took for the very last blister to dry up. He'd had blisters before... but never this many at one time. And the treatments hurt worse than the affliction! Carbolicized cold water footbaths, Epsom salt soaks, Lucol's iodine solution, aloe gel... The worst of it was being confined to a chair with his feet propped up at the ankles. Rosalie was adamant that the very best—and swiftest—remedy was exposure to fresh air and sunlight. Unable to tolerate even the slightest pressure, he had to sleep with the sheets pulled up to his knees.

Rosalie spent every possible moment going over with Jess the series of actions necessary to get him and Jay Dee from Point A (Galveston) to Point B (Choctawhatchee Bay). The straightforward, most practical way of getting there appeared to be by freighter or coastal trader. Inquiries yielded the information that there were no freighters shipping out to Pensacola that wouldn't be putting in at New Orleans for at least a week along the way. Jess grumbled at the delays.

"Why would we have to stop in Pensacola?"

"It's the last deepwater port before Tampa. On a freighter you'd have to change over to a shallow draft boat anyway to navigate the passage into Choctawhatchee Bay." After more deliberation, he finally agreed that a smaller craft was probably the better choice.

Jess knew next to nothing about sailing and—before this—had never had any intention of getting on a boat. Didn't especially want to now... but there was no alternative. Had no idea of the complexity of the Gulf coastline. Thought they'd just get on a boat, sail in a straight line for five hundred some miles to the nearest town on this bay, then get off.

"Don't seem all that far, Rosalie," Jess opined. "Not when you think we done traveled a thousand an' two hundred miles to get here."

Rosalie gave him the hairy eyeball. _Somebody needs some educating._ She sent Jay Dee with Celia to the public library for resource material. Uncle Jack disappeared into the adjacent study to return with a stack of maritime charts depicting the closest offshore navigable channels from Texas through Louisiana and Mississippi to the panhandle of Florida. Jess couldn't help but wonder what business a black woman had with those sorts of documents in her personal library.

Spreading a map of the gulf coast on the table, she rested a finger on their current location.

"Here's where you are. There's where you're going. You won't be traveling in a straight line... see? You'll be hugging the coastline all the way... mostly offshore until you get to Pensacola. Have you ever done any blue or brown water sailing?"

"Uh... I don't think so."

 _Jess, my dear... you are in for a_ rude _awakening._

 **Rosalie and Uncle Jack went off** on unexplained errands that kept them away for hours at a time. Cecelia and Jay Dee were absent doing whatever teenagers did with their free time. Not that Jay Dee had anything else to do, although he was making himself useful in many appreciated ways... chopping wood, for instance.

 _Should I be worryin' 'bout what that boy an' that gal might be up to? Sure don't want no shotguns shoved in my face by either one's momma. On the other hand, they never go nowhere they ain't got a gaggle a kids trailin' along behind 'em, so I reckon they ain't gettin' up to too much mischief..._

Jess was relaxing in a chaise longue on the verandah, trying hard to enjoy both the breeze and the view. He hadn't felt this helpless and irritable since that time he'd broken his leg three years ago. Sure, a blister didn't compare to a broken bone... but he still couldn't put his feet down on the floor without feeling the burn. And then there was that child put in charge of waiting on him... literally hand and foot. Probably no more than ten or twelve years old with cornrows and tiny pink-ribboned pigtails and a pretty pink smock. Eyes and ears like a hawk. He only had to twitch a buttcheek to change position and she was right there, wanting to know if he needed anything.

"Ain't you 'sposed to be in school or something?"

"No suh, Mistah Jess... I got me a job this week an' you's it. Miz Rosie said to watch you good an' make sure you stays put. Ifn you don't, then I gots to tell Miz Rosie you been bad."

"Won't you get behind on your schoolwork?"

"No suh. Got my books right over dere. I does my lessons when you takes a nap."

She was so earnest he had to stifle a laugh—instead, nodding his head gravely. "Well, I guess I'd better be good, then... we sure don't want any trouble from Miz Rosie. Say... you know my name but I don't know yours..."

"It be Elsie May, suh."

"Well, Elsie May... could I trouble you for a glass of cold lemonade? An' then maybe we could just talk for a while? I'm feelin' kinda lonesome today."

The child returned with a tall glass filled with chipped ice and a pitcher of lemonade.

 _Ice? Where do they get ice this far south... and where do they keep it?_

Elsie May perched on one of the wicker chairs, taking care to smooth her smock down over her knees.

"What you wanna talk 'bout, Mistuh Jess?"

"Oh... anything you want... tell me about your family... an' Miz Rosie an' Uncle Jack. How you like livin' here..."

"My real folks be passed over, Mistuh Jess. Miz Rosie an' Uncle Jack be my fambly now... an' I like it chere just fine. I happy." Elsie May flashed him a genuine ear-to-ear smile with the whitest, most even teeth he'd ever seen... aside from Slim's maybe.

 _I know that feelin', kid…_

After that it wasn't at all hard to draw the child into a conversation in which he learned a great deal more about Rosalie Marie Laveau Mount than he needed... or wanted... to know.

Jess had plenty of time to think while those dadgum blisters took forever drying up. And the more he thought about it, the more disconcerted he felt about having so easily slipped into these people's lives in less than two weeks... when it had taken him three years to feel entirely comfortable as a member of the Sherman family. Worse, days had gone by when he hadn't even _thought_ about Slim and Daisy and Mike.

 _What's this mean? Shouldn't I be just a little bit homesick? Shit. Now I feel guilty. What's wrong with me?_

 **Wednesday, October 22nd...** After inspecting Jess' feet and pronouncing him healed, Rosalie casually announced at supper that it was time to go.

"Go? Go where?"

"To the boat, of course. Everything is arranged. Your things are being brought down and loaded on the cart.

"You mean... now? Tonight? Without even saying goodbye to everyone... to the children...?" It wasn't that Jess had forgotten his original mission... it was just that... well... he wasn't sure he was ready to move forward. Very carefully he put down his knife and fork.

"Rosalie... Miz Mount... have I offended you in some way?"

"Not at all. I've enjoyed having you... both of you... even though your stay hasn't been particularly enjoyable for _you_... in light of your sister's disappearance. But it's now time to continue on with your mission. You must focus your efforts on what you hope to achieve, not on what you were unable to find. Take heart in that you've done your best and explored every possible avenue here. To keep on would be pointless."

"I reckon you're right."

"I don't expect you'll be back this way but I would take it as a personal favor if you would let me know how it turns out."

"I will, m'am... Rosalie."

"Celia and I will accompany you to the... where the vessel is presently berthed. We'll say our goodbyes there."

"You don't have to do that. It ain't safe for ladies to be out after dark."

"There's a full moon in a clear sky tonight, and an unusually high tide at three-thirty in the morning. Shippers will be taking advantage of that with an eye toward starting for the Bolivar channel around three. There will still be considerable activity on the docks. No one will notice us arriving... or a small coastal steamer leaving among them."

Her last remark pinged a warning bell at the back of his mind. Why would it matter if anyone noticed them? But he was distracted by Jay Dee standing up, wine glass in hand.

"I'd like to propose a toast to our amazing hostess, her lovely daughter, to Uncle Jack... to everyone in this extended family. You've been so gracious and kind to us... I can't wait to write my parents about you."

 **Dinner ended on a somber note,** with Rosalie suggesting that restorative naps all around would be helpful... they would be leaving around ten. Jess and Jay Dee found, laid out on their beds, the clothing in which they'd arrived. At a quarter to ten, knocks on their doors gave them ample time to change. Jess had some trouble getting his boots on... it had been three years since he'd gone so many consecutive days without them. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't be required to walk any distance. His feet were still tender.

Regrouping on the verandah, the two were shocked at the others' transformation into an ordinary colored family out for a moonlight drive. Rosalie and Cecelia wore plain white collarless long-sleeved blouses tucked into the waistbands of voluminous black skirts. Around their shoulders were wrapped gray crocheted shawls that criss-crossed over the bosom, and their headwraps were flour-sack cotton with faded floral patterns, knotted at the crown. Uncle Jack was artfully decked out in shabby trousers, a much-patched shirt and a shapeless slouch hat.

The mule stood ready, along with the pair of crackers for Jess and Jay Dee. As Jay Dee helped Celia into the rear of the cart, it seemed to him there was much more baggage than he and Jess had brought along. Rosalie and Uncle Jack took their places on the bench seat, the two outriders mounted up... and the procession was on its way.

 **Heading west, they traveled** along the beach road for several miles. Although carriage lanterns on poles had been installed on the cart, there was no need to light them yet. Under the rising moon the crushed shell roadbed glowed a ghostly white. The isolated compounds became fewer and farther between until there were none, and the cart turned inland on a sandy track. Clusters of dwellings began to appear on both sides. No question this was the 'poor' side of town, inhabited primarily by colored folk of all ethnicities.

The grid system of streets had petered out long before extending this far west on the island. There were no tidy blocks to count and no paved streets. Also no gas street lighting... or businesses... or much of anything besides barely habitable shanties and the occasional more substantial shotgun house. The Mount home, by comparison, was a palace.

Jess and Jay Dee pulled their hats down low and kept their heads hunched into their shirt collars, conscious that their white faces reflected moonlight like lighthouse beacons. There were quite a few other people out for a stroll. For the most part, one look taking in the very out-of-place white men and they were thereafter ignored, as if they didn't exist. On the other hand, the cart and it occupants were recognized and hailed. Greetings were called out and returned as they passed.

Unfamiliar with the positions of constellations this far south, Jess had only the ascent of the moon to advise their bearings—they were proceeding generally north in a serpentine pattern. Humidity increased as they approached the bay side of the island, with no gulf breeze to discourage mosquitoes or chase away the strong earthy, fishy scent of wetland. Leaving the last buildings behind, they turned onto another track paralleling the invisible shoreline, serving as demarcation between solid ground and swampy hummocks.

Oddly enough, considering it was approaching midnight, they began encountering other wheeled traffic going in both directions. Neither Uncle Jack nor the drivers of the other vehicles acknowledged the others' presence. At intervals lay-bys would appear on the swamp side of the road, off which muddy trails meandered into the vegetation. Some were occupied by other carts being loaded or unloaded by faceless men who paid no attention to the Mount party.

Uncle Jack halted the cart at one of these pull-offs. After assisting Rosalie and Celia to disembark, he gave a low whistle that summoned three young men from nowhere. Without saying a word, the trio emptied the cart and silently vanished down a narrow path beneath a canopy of stunted live oaks. Uncle Jack indicated to Jess and Jay Dee to dismount.

Rosalie had kept back one parcel. Telling Jess to remove his boots, she held out a pair of odd-looking canvas shoes. "These are called plimsolls. As you can see, they have rubber soles which will help you maintain your footing on a slippery deck. It doesn't matter if they get wet... they dry out very quickly. Jay Dee... here're yours."

Though dubious, Jess slipped them on and laced them up. They were surprisingly comfortable... almost like going barefoot. Jay Dee followed suit.

 **Uncle Jack lit one** of the carriage lamps to lead the way into the dark unknown where moonlight couldn't penetrate. Jess could sense, rather than see, standing water on both sides of the trail. Walking into a swamp at night wasn't something he would have chosen to do, given an alternative. No telling what kind of creepy crawling... or slithering... wildlife might be encountered. Palmettos competed with the live oaks and cordgrass for toeholds on either side of the connected hummocks they were traversing. The ground underneath felt spongy and unstable and there was no sign of a dock... or a boat.

Rosalie and Celia followed Uncle Jack in single file, stepping boldly in bare feet without a downward glance, ducking where necessary. Being more concerned about where his feet were going, Jess time and again bonked his head or was slapped in the face by a low-hanging branch. Jay Dee wasn't faring much better. As luck would have it, Jess happened to be looking up when he stumbled over a wide wooden board.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8:_ **EMBARKATION**

 **Jess and Jay Dee both hesitated** at stepping onto the rickety-looking dock that snaked out over a saltgrass marsh to disappear into thick skeins of mist floating above the black water. Of the three ethereal figures now far ahead of them, one turned and came back.

"Come on... it's perfectly safe," Celia laughed.

Though skeptical, the two obediently followed until the mist abruptly lifted to reveal a shack perched on stilts on one side of the end of the dock. Moored along the other side was a grey hulk with twin funnels dribbling plumes of white smoke. A string of lanterns illuminated men shuttling bundles and boxes from the dock to the interior of the vessel. Others were using hand trucks to move stacks of cordwood.

Celia motioned to Jess and Jay Dee to follow her up a ramp into the one-room hovel, where they found Rosalie and Uncle Jack already seated at a rough-hewn table with a craggy individual of indeterminate age. A bottle of evil-looking greenish-yellow liquid sat on the table along with seven unmatched and none too clean glasses. The only other furnishings of the room were a cast iron pot-bellied stove, not in use, a cubbyholed chart rack, a tall inclined chart table, and a handful of extra straightback chairs.

"Jess... Jay Dee. Meet Bruce Baldwin, captain of the good ship _Jolie Rouge_ ," Rosalie invited.

Standing up, the man still had to crane his head upwards as he leaned forward to shake hands. "Booger Baldwin, at yer service." At a hair or two over five feet, he sported merry blue eyes in a ruddy face and a great mass of curly gray hair with a matching beard. For all his short stature, Captain Baldwin was extremely muscular—his grip was enough to bring tears to their eyes. "Grab a pew, boys, an' be so kind as to render yer opinion on this vile brew. Miz Rosie here finds it palatable enough." Judging by the alcoholic content of every breath exuded, the captain was also finding the beverage tasty.

"Uh... I ain't..." Jess was pretty sure the murky yellow liquid was rum of some doubtful provenance. He didn't much care for rum, himself, and he didn't think it was anything young Jay Dee needed to imbibe, either.

"Oh, go ahead. Locally distilled, aged thirty days... guaranteed to blow yer pipes an' kill body lice."

"Well... maybe half a glass... an' just a taste for the kid." Jess jerked a thumb at Jay Dee, who rolled his eyes.

Captain Baldwin poured three full glasses for the late arrivals before topping off his own and that of Uncle Jack and Rosalie. Jess held his breath, waiting for Rosalie to voice an objection to her daughter being offered hard liquor. Instead, she held out her glass in a toast.

"To a profitable voyage and the continued good health of all those I hold dear... including my newest wards."

 _Wards? Since when? An' what does she mean by profit? Financial... or personal?_

" **Celia... why don't you** and Uncle Jack take Jess and Jay Dee aboard and show them to their quarters. It's too late for the nickel tour and you don't want to get in the way of the dockmen. Don't look so glum, Jess—I'll be along shortly to say goodbye."

Thus dismissed, the two did as told, following the girl's lead across the gangplank to the main deck and up a spiral iron companionway to the one above. Passing through an enclosed saloon they entered a passageway with eight standard compartment doors ranging on either side. Apparently the _Jolie Rouge_ wasn't set up to carry more than eight to sixteen passengers.

Opening the door to the last stateroom on the starboard side, Uncle Jack stood aside to let Jess and Jay Dee pass.

"Mother hopes you don't mind sharing," Celia said. "There are other passengers this trip, but none going as far as you."

 _An' what happens to_ them? _They gonna fall overboard along the way?_ Jess wondered.

The stateroom, though far from sumptuous, was more than adequate for two grown men, with a single bunk on either side and storage lockers above and below. Across from the passageway entrance, a glass door gave out onto a promenade with safety railings. In addition, a large window promised an excellent daylight view once they were underway. Under the window and attached to the bulkhead was a narrow writing desk. A small straightback chair sported a lanyard with which to secure it in the event of heavy seas. A lantern depended from the overhead and a second one mounted in a holder above the desk. Their luggage had already been brought up along with some unfamiliar pieces they hadn't started out with.

"I'll help you unpack, if you wish," Celia offered as Uncle Jack departed on other business.

"Sure... thanks," Jay Dee replied before Jess could comment on the impropriety of a young lady alone with two men on an otherwise deserted deck.

They'd just finished stowing their gear when Rosalie came in.

"Celia... I imagine you and Jay Dee would like to make your goodbyes in private, as would I. Why don't you two step out to the saloon while Jess and I have a word."

 **No arm twisting was required** and in moments the older couple were alone.

"I can't begin to thank you enough for everythin' you done for us, Rosalie," Jess ventured, realizing they were standing uncomfortably close together... and that somehow without his noticing the overhead light had been turned off. Her face was luminescent in the faint illumination issuing from the desk lamp turned to its lowest setting. Jess started to panic as inappropriate thoughts immediately translated to inappropriate physical responses.

"I don't know why..."

Stepping forward, Rosalie extended a hand to stroke his cheek with a feather-soft touch. "Does there have to be a why? Because I wanted to. Because my _Orí_ directed me to assist you in any way possible, and so I have done."

Before Jess could ask, Rosalie explained that _Orí_ was her personal god, the equivalent of a Christian guardian angel.

"But..."

"No buts. Before I go I must tell you this, Jess Harper. In all the years since Mister Mount, I have never been so attracted to any man as I've been to you. If I weren't old enough to be your mother..."

Jess' jaw dropped. "Are you kiddin'? Celia's what... only eighteen?"

Rosalie's tinkling laugh was music to his ears.

"Seventeen. She was my bonus baby. Her father was just the last of many husbands. I have sons your age. Not all the children under my roof are orphans... some are grandchildren."

Jess contemplated this astonishing revelation for all of sixty seconds before deciding, in this surreal moment out of time, their age difference was of no consequence.

"Miss Rosalie... can I kiss you goodbye?"

"I would be terribly disappointed if you didn't."

 **Later, in the darkness of their stateroom,** neither Jess nor Jay Dee were able to sleep. A wizened old Cajun who turned out to be both steward and cook brought them pitchers of water for drinking and for washing. The room also had a tiny washstand and shaving mirror anchored in a corner. Indicating that if they needed anything they had only to summon him from his lair at the end of the passageway and he would see to it, the man left. They would be casting off at precisely two o'clock and should be safely through the Bolivar channel by the time breakfast was served.

The room was dark except for lambent moonlight glancing off the window glass. Neither of them had thought to pull down the spring-rolled shades.

"Hope you didn't get too stuck on that Celia," Jess finally commented, apropos of nothing. "Probably a good thing we couldn't stay any longer..."

Jay Dee grunted. "Wouldn't have done me any good anyway. She's going into the convent in the fall."

"I hear them convent schools are pretty good..."

"Not _school_ , Jess... _convent_. As in, _the_ convent... she's going to be a nun."

"You sure?"

" _She_ is."

"Her momma ain't gonna like that."

"Miz Rosalie knows... and she approves."

"Oh." Then, "What a waste."

"Tell me about it. But you know what? I got to kiss her before she left."

"Good for you." Jess decided he didn't need to relate his own goodbye experience. It was a private moment and one he'd treasure forever.

"We're not coming back this way, are we?" Jay Dee asked.

"Don't think so... why?"

"You do know Captain Booger's a smuggler, don't you?"

"Say whaaaaat?" Jess sat up too quickly, smacking his head on the overhead bin. "You're kidding!"

"Celia told me. The official cargo, in case we're intercepted by customs agents, is sugar and salt."

"What's the _unofficial_ cargo?"

"Rum. Crates of the stuff. I thought you would've guessed."

 **Thursday, October 23rd...** Jess and Jay Dee were awakened by the boilers firing up and the paddlewheel beginning its rotation as the boat backed away from the dock. Voices floated down from above and up from below as instructions were issued and confirmed. If other passengers had come aboard, they'd been awfully quiet about it. Perhaps they'd already been aboard and retired to their own staterooms before the Mount party had even arrived. In any event, the transit from marsh to open water was so smooth they both fell back asleep and didn't wake up again until the steward knocked on their door the next morning.

Breakfast was available in the saloon to both crew and passengers—no rush as not everyone could attend at the same time, some of the crewmembers still being on duty. Food service would continue until everyone onboard had been fed.

Jess turned a little pale as they entered the saloon and had a look around. Wide glass windows fronted three sides of the room—nothing to be seen beyond the rain-drizzled glass but gray: gray waves, gray skies and, in the near distance, a darker strip of gray representing the coastline of the Bolivar Peninsula.

Seven other men were already seated, some just finishing up and others just starting to tuck in. If there were any women on board, they were keeping to their quarters. As for the diners, it was difficult to distinguish passengers from crew as they were all dressed pretty much alike in work clothes, aside from two fairly prosperous-looking gents.

The fare was presented boarding-house style—big bowls and platters of the usual and customary breakfast grub, passed around hand to hand... scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, sausages and bacon, biscuits. Nothing to compare with cookery _ala_ Maison Mount but fresh, hot and filling. Every few minutes the cook/steward bustled in with replenishments and more coffee.

Jess ate sparingly and immediately returned to their stateroom. Jay Dee wanted to explore. He had a passing familiarity with boats—pleasure sailcraft mostly, and the screw-driven mail packets that plied the California coast, but this was his first experience with a paddlewheeler. Asking the attendant if there was a spare sou'wester he could borrow, he was directed to a rack on the wall and told to pick any one that fit. Descending to the main deck, he struck up a conversation with a deckhand who took him back to the engine room where muscle-bound stokers ceaselessly fed wood into fireboxes and the engineer monitored temperature and pressure gauges of the twin boilers. It was hotter than six kinds of hell back there.

On the way out he encountered Captain Baldwin (just call me 'Booger') on his après breakfast inspection rounds.

"Gimme a few minutes ta check on my crew then come up ta the wheelhouse. Nicer view up there."

 _View of what,_ Jay Dee thought, but he hung around and trailed the captain with the interesting name above to the wheelhouse.

 **Cap'n Booger was happy** to impart whatever knowledge his audience seemed interested in wanting to hear. _Jolie Rouge_ was a sternwheel steamboat, seventy feet long with a sixteen and a half foot beam. She drew four feet of water, light, with a scant three feet of freeboard. The entire main deck, constituting the cargo hold, was enclosed with barely eighteen inches of walkaround giving outside access to the stern. No hand rails, merely a rope tacked to the bulwark. The promenade deck contained eight passenger staterooms (which could be used for cargo in a pinch), the saloon which doubled as a mess hall, a minuscule sundeck, the galley, the cook/steward's quarters and supply locker. Up top were the captain's quarters, a wardroom for the crew, and their dormitory-style sleeping facilities. The glassed-in wheelhouse itself was elevated, affording a three-hundred-sixty degree view.

Cap'n Booger claimed that despite the _Jolie Rouge's_ somewhat shabby appearance, she was sound as a twenty-dollar gold piece. As part owner, he was meticulous about maintenance... and the well-being of his crew. Her less than spiffy exterior was intentional—a clever ploy to avoid unwanted attention from customs agents and pirates.

Jay Dee had questions aplenty... Did they sail at night? Not if they could avoid it—the preference was to pull into a protective cove or inlet and tie up. Sure, it took longer to get to where they were going, but infinitely safer. Motoring this close to the shoreline, there was always a danger of reefs and shoals, which is why the captain kept a man topside with a spyglass. You couldn't always count on the accuracy of charts.

How long would it take them to get to Pensacola? Ten days minimum, depending on weather conditions and how many stops they made along the way to discharge or take on passengers, offload goods at settlements, and take on wood and potable water as needed. Best count on fourteen days. With calm seas they could average seventy-five miles per day without stops. The rougher the seas, the lower the average.

Would they have to sail all the way around the massive Mississippi delta region or were there any shortcuts through the thousands of barrier islands? Cap'n Booger admitted slyly that, yes indeed, he had imprinted in his head a good many cut-throughs that didn't appear on any maritime charts.

How many crew were normally onboard at any given time? Usually ten to twelve but they were a tad short this run, with only eight. They might be able to pick up an able seaman or two at one of the settlements.

Jay Dee had been saving back a question that was burning a hole in the back of his head. Cap'n Booger was being so affable that he judged now might be an opportune time to put it out there...


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9:_ **SMUGGLER'S BLUES**

" **Cap'n Booger? Can I ask you a question?"**

The little man chortled. "As opposed to what you been doin' fer the past hour?"

"Well... it's sort of personal. You don't have to answer if you don't want to..."

"Go ahead. Shoot..."

"Are you really a smuggler?"

In the silence that followed, the captain took his eyes off the horizon and turned his head slowly. "Where'd ya hear that?"

"Celia Mount... she didn't exactly _say_ you were... but she hinted at it. And I sort of figured out the rest for myself."

The captain frowned, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Now then, that's mighty impertinent comin' from a pup like you... a man could get hisself kilt askin' a question like that. You or that so-called cousin a yers one a them revenoors?"

"Oh no, sir!" Jay Dee replied hastily. "We don't have anything to do with the law... except Jess... back in Laramie he sometimes serves as deputy sheriff... but that's not anything to do with why he's here."

"Waaaaal... I 'spose I needn't worry 'bout a part-time lawdog."

"Absolutely not... I promise."

"Why do ya wanna know?"

"I've never met a smuggler before. Probably won't ever get another chance. Missus Mount's library had some books about blockade runners and pirates and such. Celia said sometimes there's gun battles out on the open water when customs agents try to board a boat they think is involved in smuggling."

"Aye. That's true. It happens. Not to me in recent years, anyways, though we've had skirmishes with pirates."

"Really? There's pirates? Do they really fly the Jolly Roger?"

Cap'n Booger slapped his thigh and guffawed. "Son, ya been readin' too many dime swashbucklers. Pirates these days ain't nothin' more than seagoin' highwaymen an', yes, they're real enough. Why dya think me an' my crew go around armed, or ain't ya noticed?"

"I noticed today. I'm sure Jess'll notice when he gets out and about. At home he goes armed all the time, too. Almost all the time. He used to be a gunfighter with a bad reputation."

"Izzat right? Fast, is he?"

Seeing he now had the captain's rapt attention, Jay Dee inadvisedly forged on, forgetting he wasn't supposed to be talking about that.

"We only just met right before coming here... but my father says he's not only fast but dead accurate. He... my dad, that is... he worked for a couple of weeks on the ranch where Jess lives. He didn't actually _see_ Jess in action but he sure heard about him in town."

"That's certainly good information to have on hand... not that I'm expectin' trouble, but that's when it always happens... when ya ain't lookin' for it. He got a gun with him?"

"Yessir, he does."

"An' you... you a gunslick, too?"

"Hell, no! I mean, nossir. I have one but I've never shot at anyone... or had anyone shoot at me. I hunt with my dad a lot and get my share of game... but that's with a rifle or shotgun. I don't know if I could shoot a person."

"You could was you scared enough. Speakin' a yer cousin the gunfighter, how's he doin'?"

"He was looking a little ill at breakfast... but that was two hours ago."

"How're you holdin' up?"

"Me? I'm fine. Maybe he's okay now."

"Don't hold yer breath. On the other hand, ya might just _have_ to. My advice... afore ya go to yer stateroom, go by the galley an' have Alcide make up some ginger tea for yer cousin. An' make sure he drinks it."

Jay Dee'd noticed, as they'd been conversing, that the boat was no longer rolling along nicely in gentle swells. Though not yet at gale strength, the wind was driving a steady rain against the wheelhouse windows, impairing visibility, and a threatening squall line was approaching from the southwest.

Cap'n Booger scowled and barked something into the voice tube connecting him with engineering. As the _Jolie Rouge_ began to come around, pointing toward shore, the choppy waves now hitting her broadside were causing her to pitch and yaw in an alarming manner.

"Best ya get below now, son."

Jay Dee didn't hang around to ask why.

 **Splayed on his bunk,** Jess was positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was knocking at the gates of Hades. The mild uneasiness he'd felt toward the end of breakfast he'd chalked up to being cooped up on a boat on open water—just a case of nerves, which he'd get over soon enough. No one else at the table seemed to be bothered. Exiting the saloon, he realized he'd begun perspiring. The passageway seemed to be undulating. He managed to keep his balance by gripping one handrail after another until reaching his cabin.

Opening the door required a major effort that brought on a wave of vertigo. Sinking to the floor, he crawled on hands and knees to the underbunk cabinet hiding the chamberpot, wrenching it into position just in the nick of time. Rivulets of sweat dripped off his brow, nose and ears, trickled down his back. His eyes burned. Breakfast erupted in a hot spew of vomitus—not all at once but in a series of spasms followed by dry heaves that painfully constricted his chest and belly. Still the nausea continued.

After what seemed like an eternity Jess hauled himself to his feet and lurched toward the washstand, where he attempted to pour a glass of water, most of which splashed into the basin. All he wanted was enough to swizzle away the foul taste in his mouth. That done, he poured more with the intention of drinking it. Not even water would stay down. Burning up now, he fumbled off his shirt and longjohn top and collapsed onto his bunk.

This was the most sick Jess could remember ever being... worse than the worst hangover he'd ever experienced. He'd gone through terrible fevers, usually due to infections brought on by being shot or knifed... but he'd usually been unconscious most of those times. Nothing like this, where no amount of positive thinking or earnest prayer would bring on that blissful absence of consciousness. The room was spinning like a Texas twister. He couldn't tell which was thrumming harder... head, heart or belly. His teeth chattered. He could only hope that, having already dispensed with his morning constitutional, there were no worse indignities to follow.

Jess wanted... needed... more water. His mouth was dry as the Sonoran desert. There was no way he could again make it to the pitcher on the washstand. If only Jay Dee would return and bring him some water. No... he didn't want Jay Dee to find him in this predicament. If only Jay Dee stayed away until he got over this.

 _I'm gonna die..._

 **The saloon was empty** when Jay Dee lurched through, noting that all moveable objects had been stowed away. Around the table, which was bolted to the floor, chairs had been secured by the simple expedient of running a rope through their slats and around the table. Making his way from one handhold to the next along the tilted passageway, he could overhear moans and unrestrained retching coming from behind closed doors. Thus forewarned, he cautiously opened the door to his own cabin... just a crack, but enough to catch a whiff of something that triggered his own gag reflex. Closing it again, he slid toward the galley and tapped on the door.

Jay Dee delivered his request and the old man nodded, indicating he should take a chair chained to the bulkhead as he, Alcide, was already in the midst of preparations. With the surefootedness of a fly on a vertical surface, the gnarled old gnome padded around his domain with no visible concern for the constantly shifting angles and planes. He seemed pleased to have the company, carrying on a running commentary as he grated ginger root and juiced lemons. With the cookstove going full blast, the room was sweltering yet the Cajun remained dry as a bean.

Jay Dee found that following the old man's advice—breathing through his mouth instead of his nose and focusing on a stationary object instead of looking around—helped alleviate the rising tide of nausea.

"Soon we come land, boat, she stop movin'. Ever'one, he feel bettah, ey? Then big job, me..." He pointed toward a mop and broom rack hanging over a pile of rags and several buckets of water. "Peeeee yeeeewwww!" Big job indeed. In a moment of mental aberration, feeling sorry for the man, Jay Dee found himself volunteering to help.

Jay Dee paid close attention and took notes (for his mother's later edification) as the cook added ingredients to the cauldron of water bubbling away on the stove: grated ginger, lemon juice, honey, pulverized chamomile leaves... and a handful of chopped dried vegetable matter with a positively putrid odor. When asked, Alcide explained with a toothless grin that it was black horehound... also known as _stinking_ horehound. Most efficacious for _mal de mer_... but not to fret—the stink and the taste would dissipate as the concoction brewed.

The Cajun went on to detail how, when the boat came to a halt (hopefully at its intended berth and not on a sandbar or the seafloor) and when the mixture cooled enough, he'd strain it through cheesecloth. Then they would take around mugs of warm ginger tea, along with dry soda crackers, to the afflicted. Alcide didn't anticipate a need for much cooking that day. Especially if the _Jolie Rouge_ foundered and they had to swim for it. In Jay Dee's estimation the man was entirely too cheerful in the face of impending disaster.

Alcide also went on to vent his opinion that, as at the moment there was nothing to be done to improve the lot of the stricken, he and his guest may as well remain in the galley. Approaching any of the sick people at this point would no doubt result in being cussed at and/or barfed on. With any luck, they would've yielded up the last of their stomach contents long before the boat made landfall, when Alcide and his volunteer assistant janitor would have to shoulder their mops.

 **After a particularly violent upheaval,** Jess found himself on the floor again. Lying there and looking up, he discovered that his bunk was equipped with a side railing that could be sprung up to prevent such an occurrence. Too late now.

Time went by and the hull-pounding continued. The porcelain pot had slid to the other side of the cabin but, fortunately, managed to remain upright without too much sloshing. Also fortunate Jess had nothing left to contribute to it. Whoever had the odious duty of emptying it would no doubt find an internal organ or two... a lung or a kidney. One of the water pitchers had bounced out of its containment rail and shattered on the floor, so now Jess' backside was wet. Instead of drowning in sweat he was freezing. His eyeballs felt loose in their sockets. Even his hair hurt. Death couldn't come too soon.

Eventually Jess realized that the earthquake-like movement had ceased, replaced by thumping and scraping noises, voices outside the exterior door to the promenade, footsteps in the passageway on the other side of the interior door, moans seeping through the thin partition to the adjacent cabin. He didn't expect hell to be this subdued. Or this cold. He curled himself into a fetal position, afraid to open his eyes.

Presently that interior door swung open and a familiar voice called out his name.

"Jess?" Then, "Oh shit!"

Two pairs of hands pulled him up and peeled off his wet pants before applying towels.

"C'mon Jess... I know you're awake."

"Leave me alone..."

"No can do. Alcide, help me get him on the bed... it's still clean."

Jess couldn't have resisted if he wanted to... he didn't have an ounce of strength left. Besides, if he were going to cash in his chips he'd rather do it on a nice, soft bed than on the cold, wet floor.

"Jess... drink this... just a sip," Jay Dee urged.

Jess wanted to bat away the cup being held to his lips, but his arms weren't cooperating... just hanging there uselessly. He took one sip just so Jay Dee would shut up, then another and another. It was lukewarm and sweetish and his mouth was _so_ dry...

"Okay... that's all of it. Think it's safe to lay him down, Alcide?"

 _Who the heck is Alcide?_ He cracked his eyes open just enough to make out the steward's shadowy form. Pretty sure they didn't provide stewards in hell, Jess closed his eyes again. _Damn. Still alive._ The nausea and dizziness were receding but he still felt awful.

"I'll be back to check on you in a while. Try to sleep."

As if on command, Jess felt himself floating away as Jay Dee tucked a blanket around him.

 **Alcide and Jay Dee made the rounds,** administering ginger tea and soda crackers. On their next circuit they stripped and replaced bedding where needed. Third time around they emptied slop jars and mopped. Twice Jay Dee had to stop and dash out to the railings. After that he felt well enough to continue. Surprisingly enough, the half of the passengers who hadn't succumbed to motion sickness pitched in to help tend the other half and clean up. In short order the stench of vomit was canceled out by the chemical reek of carbolic soap. Putting in an appearance, Cap'n Booger raised an eyebrow at Jay Dee carrying out a load of soiled linens, but nodded his head in appreciation. _Good solid youngster, that 'un. He'll amount to somethin' someday!_

Alcide's expectation of getting a day off from cooking was firmly squelched. Only a quarter of the folks onboard weren't in any shape to face solid food. The other three-fourths still needed to eat. Jay Dee checked in on Jess regularly and was gratified to find him sleeping soundly despite his greenish pallor. The storm raged for only a few hours before moving inland, taking the wind and rain with it but leaving overcast skies.

Alcide set up a washing station outside on the quarterdeck. A hand pump drew fresh water from a cistern up to a spray nozzle mounted head high. Anyone in need of deodorizing was welcome to avail himself of the improvised shower, soap and towels provided. A line immediately formed. Jay Dee reminded himself to later record in his notebook the image of a dozen shivering naked men attempting to scrub away the miasma of vomit with lye soap. His mother would get a chuckle out of it.

 **Once again joining the captain** in his aerie, a lye-scented Jay Dee observed their surroundings—as far as the eye could see, flat, featureless salt marsh criss-crossed by narrow winding ribbons of water. The gulf was visible in the distance as a thin strip of pewter. How did the captain know exactly which channel would accommodate his vessel? And would he be able to guide her back out to sea without running her aground?

Other than some minor bobbing, the boat was stationary. Down below many of the off duty crewmen and a few passengers were plying cane poles and circular crab nets off the sides. The crabbers were having better luck than the line fishermen, judging by the occasional whoop of glee as an occupied net was brought up.

"What kind of fish are they catching?"

"Mostly croaker an' flounder, both good eatin'. Wouldn't mind havin' a mess a crabs for supper, though."

"We'll be here that long? Why can't we...?"

"Gotta wait fer high tide. She's damn near restin' on the bottom as it is."

"Oh. In that case, would it be okay if I tried my hand at fishing, too?"

"Help yerself. Plenty a extra poles. One thing, though... keep yer arms an' legs outta the water an' away from the gunnels."

"Why?"

Cap'n Booger took a long suck on his pipe, slowly expelling a spiral of smoke. "I 'spect ye'll see fer yerself soon enough. Mind what I say."

 **Below on the main deck,** the hands nodded and grinned at Jay Dee, welcoming him into their midst. A pole with a pre-baited hook was thrust into his hands and the others made room for him. He almost missed noticing that two of the crew members weren't fishing but lounging back against the bulwarks, smoking and holding rifles. No one was leaning on the gunwhales.

Jay Dee's first catch was a small fish, smaller than palm-size. He was about to throw it back when a young crewman nearby snatched it and carved it into chunks on a barrelhead. "Bait," he said.

"Oh... okay... that makes sense."

Other fishermen were dipping croaker fingerlings out of another barrel and hooking them through the eye. After awhile, seeing the live bait lines were yielding pan-size flounder, Jay Dee switched over from cut bait. He was rewarded with a nice twelve-incher that drew applause. He was about to haul in his fourth fish when a commotion broke out to his right, screeches of alarm and a torrent of cursing. He turned his head just in time to see a monstrous prehistoric creature sunfish out of the water almost to its rear legs, with a line protruding from its hideous jaws.

The man at the other end of the pole dropped it and scrambled backwards, cussing a blue streak. The man standing next to him calmly aimed his rifle and fired twice into the back of the alligator's head, just below the skull cap... a perfect—and almost impossible—killshot. The gator thrashed and rolled in its death throes, throwing up great gouts of water that soaked everyone nearby and yanked the pole into the drink. In a matter of minutes it turned belly up and sank. A half dozen other very much smaller alligators snorkeled out of the sloughs, intent on capitalizing on the unexpected feast.

As Jay Dee looked on in fascination, four juvenile reptiles met their fate in a blaze of gunfire and were immediately gaffed out of the water and dragged onto the deck. One that still showed signs of life was clubbed into oblivion. The same youth who'd chopped up Jay Dee's first fish and two other men set to work with razor sharp knives, skinning out the gators and tossing the prime cuts of meat—cheeks and tail tenderloins—into an empty bucket someone else had thoughtfully provided. The carcasses were thrown overboard and a feeding frenzy ensued. The tea-colored water was boiling with alligators.

"You're gonna eat... that?"

The brown-skinned youth looked up and grinned. "Be good eatin', dat."

 _Nope,_ Jay Dee thought. _Nopity nope nope. No lizard for this farm boy._

Jay Dee decided he'd had quite enough of fishing for one day even though, on other side of the boat, unperturbed seafood aficionados continued pursuing their prey.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10:_ **RESURRECTION**

 **Dinner that evening** was... _different._ A huge bowl of steamed spicy brown rice seasoned with diced scallions, celery and red bell peppers was passed around the table. Then tureens of thinly-sliced mystery meat floating in a savory brown roux (Jay Dee later learned this was called étoufée). As platters of boiled crabs arrived, almost every man jack present whipped out some form of tool with which to crack claws. Anyone without his own tool was presented one by Alcide. Jay Dee found himself armed with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Finally scraping up the courage to taste one of the white medallions he suspected was alligator, he was pleasantly surprised by its sweet, mild flavor... somewhere between chicken and pork. Fried flounder made the rounds. Gravy-sopping cornbread appeared. And coffee strong enough to have to be spooned out of the pot.

Too bad Jess was still ill as a hornet, snarling when Jay Dee asked him if he wanted to try coming to supper.

"How about some soda crackers, then?"

Informing Jay Dee in no uncertain terms exactly where he could stuff the soda crackers, Jess curled up like a pillbug, facing the bulkhead and moaning softly. He was still in the same position, emitting muffled whimpers, when Jay Dee returned and crawled into his own bunk.

 **Friday, October 24th...** Somewhere around three in the morning the boilers fired up, waking Jay Dee. Or maybe it was Jess' raspy voice.

"Wha's hap'nin'?"

"We're just getting underway again. Go back to sleep."

"Okay."

With a series of jerks and thumps, _Jolie Rouge_ started moving. Jay Dee sleepily wondered how Cap'n Jack could see to steer. The cloud cover must've moved on. The next time he woke up it was to daylight and an empty bed across the cabin. The exterior door stood open.

 _Omigod! He's gone overboard…_

Jay Dee frantically disentangled himself from his coverings and scrambled to his feet. Outside on the promenade—resurrected from the dead and looking like he'd been on the mother of all benders—Jess had both hands braced against the rails where he stood unsteadily, looking out to sea.

"Water," he croaked morosely.

"I'll go get you some... hang on..."

"No... _water._ " He gestured toward the flat blue expanse glittering in the morning sun. "She promised we'd stay close to land."

Jay Dee sighed. "The reason all you can see is water, Jess, is because we're on the starboard side of the boat. If you walk around to the other side—the port side—you'll see how close to shore we really are. How're you feeling?"

"Like shit. Only worse."

"That good, huh?"

"You makin' fun a me?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't dare."

"I'm starvin' but I'm scared to eat anythin'."

"There's always..."

"Mention them goddam soda crackers one more time an' you're a dead man."

"Right. How about some coffee?"

"Yeah... I could do coffee. You gonna get it?"

"Right away."

"You might wanna put some clothes on."

"I might say the same of you..."

Both of them were stark naked. Jay Dee started laughing. Couldn't help it.

"Don't make me laugh or I'll throw up," Jess threatened, "in your bunk."

 _Good... his sense of humor's coming back..._

Coffee helped, although Jess wasn't yet up to leaving the stateroom.

"Go on an' get your breakfast. I ain't goin' nowhere."

"You sure I can't bring you back some?"

"You got a death wish?"

"Gotcha. Okay. I'll be back in a little bit." As Jay Dee opened the passageway door, Jess called out to him.

"Hey kid... thanks for lookin' out for me." Gruff but genuine.

"You're welcome."

 **Jay Dee came back to find Jess** dressed and clean-shaven, albeit with a chin dotted with nicks.

"You want to go to the saloon for a change of scenery? There's some other passengers in there, playing cards."

"Nah... not yet. Let's just sit here an' talk for awhile."

"Sure. Whatever you want. Er... talk about what?"

"How many days we been out?"

"You mean, since we left Galveston? This is only our second day."

"What? I thought we'd be goin' past Loosiana by now!"

"Afraid not. We're still in Texas waters."

"Well... dammit! What if I get sick again today?"

"Cap'n Booger says you probably won't."

"What kinda name is that, anyway? What man calls hisself 'booger'?"

Jay Dee shrugged. "Says he's originally from Australia but left a long time ago. Seems everyone there goes by a nickname and that's his. I've met people from there before and he doesn't sound like them. Maybe he's just been here too long and lost his accent."

"Ain't that the place where England sends all their criminals to get rid of 'em?"

"That's, like, last century, Jess... I don't know if they do that anymore. They're probably all normal people now."

"No... I remember readin' about it in the paper not too long ago."

"Jess... do you even know where Australia is?"

" 'Course I do," Jess retorted indignantly. "Andy showed me on that globe thing a his... it's a big island on the other side a the world."

 _Actually, Jess... it's a continent..._

"Not to change the subject," Jay Dee said, deftly changing the subject, "but do you have any ideas what we're gonna do when we get there... wherever _there_ is exactly? I don't see any towns as such on the map... just a bunch of pissant settlements scattered around this bay."

"Well... I got the Pinkerton's report an' Miz Rosalie wrote down some names a people we should talk to..."

 **None of the dozen** or possible contacts on Rosalie's list were duplicated anywhere in the detective agency's summation of their findings. Each was accompanied by a brief description such as _'Carroll's Ferry—fares negotiable'_ or _'Brown's Landing—supplies at fair prices, lodgings and food'_ and _'Anderson Dock—hire boat and guide, trustworthy.'_ Also _'Lorraine Landing—bedbug infested, information for a price'_ , _'Jack Lake Dock—rob you blind'_ , _'Bucarroo Point—whores will trade for food'_ , _'Post'l Point Landing—cheats and cutthroats'_.

Extracting from a leather field case an annotated map of the bay that their hostess had thoughtfully provided, Jess shook his head mournfully. "I think I bit off more'n I can chew. Look at this... they're spread out all over the place. I don't know where to start."

"I'd suggest Cap'n Booger. He says he knows every bayou and inlet on the bay... probably knows most of these folks."

"Oh... I don't wanna bother 'im while he's drivin'."

"It's called 'steering'… and he can do both, believe me! That man likes to talk... besides, he's looking forward to having a chat when you're feeling up to it."

The whole time, Jay Dee'd been keeping an eye on his companion, noting with relief a vast improvement since earlier that morning. Jess was still a little pale but the greenish tinge had evaporated and he was a sight more animated. Jay Dee was starting to feel a little peckish himself when Jess spoke up.

"I got to eat somethin' but I don't reckon I could look a fried egg in the eye."

"Tell you what," Jay Dee said, "why don't I go consult Alcide and see if he can't rustle you up something besides..."

"Don't say it!"

"Believe it or not, you're not the sickest man onboard. You wouldn't believe what we had to... well... never mind that. I'll be back in a few minutes."

 **Jay Dee hadn't yet returned** when there came a knock on the door. Jess answered it to find the Cajun cook bearing a covered platter. He stepped aside as Alcide carried it across to the desk and whipped off the cloth with a flourish. The offerings were less than encouraging—a banana, apple slices, dry toast cut into strips and a soft-boiled egg already decapitated. A tall glass with pale liquid poured over chipped ice turned out to be more ginger tea.

"Good for bellyache," the man declared proudly. "You eat, him stay down, eh? Tonight maybe get good food." Alcide turned and marched out.

While it wasn't what Jess had in mind, it was edible and his stomach was rumbling. Sitting down, he took a few test bites of the egg and waited to see if it stayed down. When nothing happened, he applied himself to the rest, finishing up just as Jay Dee sauntered in.

"Sorry I took so long. Went up to see the captain and he invited me to have lunch with him. You doing okay?" Jay Dee nodded his head toward the now-empty plate.

"So far, so good."

"Cap'n Booger says come on up whenever you're ready."

"I just might do that."

 **The elevated view** from the wheelhouse served to quell Jess' nervousness about being on open sea. The shoreline, while not so near as to be able to distinguish individual trees, was close enough to afford a false sense of security to a landlubber. The upholstered swivel chair Jess was occupying—companion to the captain's—had originally been intended for a pilot, should one be needed.

Normally reticent about revealing his past exploits, Jess found himself inexplicably inclined to hold nothing back. Within a short period the two men had established a rapport based on their similar histories. In his younger days, Bruce 'Booger' Baldwin had been a bushranger—the Australian equivalent of an American western outlaw. Narrowly escaping the rope, he'd managed to stow away on a freighter, later joining the merchant marine and ultimately jumping ship in New Orleans. Tried going one hundred percent straight, found it didn't quite meet his financial requirements—not to mention his zest for adventure. Took up smuggling as a hobby, which experience came in mighty handy during the years of blockade-running on behalf of the Confederacy.

"Ah... the good old days!" the captain lamented. "T'ain't half as much fun as it used to be. What about you? Dyer ever miss bein' footloose and fancy free?"

Mulling that over, Jess had to admit to himself that no... he didn't. During that first year he'd many times been tempted to pack up and move on. Not so much, anymore.

"Dunno. Kinda lost my taste for it... that an' gettin' shot up. Don't bounce back like I useta."

Cap'n Booger agreed. "Aye. The spirit's still rarin' ta go but the body ain't willin'. All them hurts pile up. Always somethin' achin' an' ailin'."

"Amen to that!"

"Speakin' a shootin', how's yer gun hand nowadays?"

Jess' face grew wary. "Why dya ask? Expectin' trouble?"

"Always," the captain confirmed. "Especially when yer carryin' contraband. 'Spect the boy told you about that."

"He did. I ain't all that happy about it... don't want no trouble with the law."

"Not likely to have any, this far out of port. No... it's the other folks after my cargo we need to look out for."

"Thought privateerin' went out at the end a the war?"

"Meant plain old ordinary pirates... not the kind yer thinkin' of, though. No ship's gonna sail up an' board us. It's when we pull in fer the night... that's when we're most likely to be set upon by robbers. That's why we're gonna start settin' guards... not only at night but wherever we stop."

"I see... so you're wantin' to know is can I... would I... be willin' to help out if needed?"

"That's about the size of it, son. What about yer young cousin? He any good?"

"No idea. An' I ain't about to find out, neither. Anything happens to him, his folks'll come after me. I won't never be able to go home."

"All the more reason to count on you fer our fire team."

"You got it."


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11:_ **TROUBLE**

 **Thursday, October 30th...** Jess reckoned he'd never been so bored in his entire life. Hour after hour after hour... the scenery gliding by never changed. Endless thin strips of gravelly or sandy foreshore backed by flat expanses of stunted trees, gradually giving way to wildernesses of salt marshes with barely a bump in the terrain in sight. Every night the captain skillfully eeled the _Jolie Rouge_ into a safe berth among the tall grasses. Jess couldn't see how anyone could sneak up on them unless they swam through alligator-infested waters... and in any case _where_ would anyone be living out here? He hadn't seen a human habitation in days. The crew went on rotation in order to allow for night watchmen.

Whenever they pulled in early enough, most everyone went fishing. They shot scores of alligators for sport, butchering the smaller ones for the table. There was wildfowl aplenty but without retrievers, there wasn't any point in wasting ammunition on them. Even if they'd had water dogs, the alligators would've snatched them in a heartbeat.

Whenever they chanced on a cluster of huts, they stopped to see if the inhabitants needed any of the goods they were carrying or had anything to offer in the way of trade (usually nothing). Sometimes men got off or others got on. Jess learned all their names as well those of all the deckhands. Played endless hands of cards for matches (playing for money had been strictly forbidden by the captain, who didn't want any brawling on his patch). Whiled away many hours up in the wheelhouse, trading tall tales with Cap'n Booger. Almost every afternoon brought a rain shower that replenished the cisterns positioned at every runoff point, so potable water was in abundance.

 **The** _ **Jolie Rouge**_ **passed** through Louisiana waters, approaching what seemed like thousands of islets in the Mississippi River delta. Jess spotted his second ever lighthouse on Gordon's Island at the mouth of the river's south pass. Dwellings began to appear—flimsy shanties teetering on stilts—and other lighthouses. Cap' Booger made sure to keep well away from the occasional freighter steaming by, in order to avoid the overwash of their wakes.

The captain showed Jess on the map how they'd made a sweeping loop around the delta and were about to enter Chandeleur Sound, after which they'd be sailing between barrier islands and the mainland all the way to Mobile Bay. There, they would have to sortie back out to open water to get around the Fort Morgan peninsula. Fifty miles on they would reenter the intracoastal waterway via Pensacola Sound, then parallel Santa Rosa island another forty-five miles before reaching their final destination.

"We'll be going right by where yer brother was held prisoner, Jess. It's still in use for political prisoners, if yer innerested."

 _Yeah... like a prisoner a war camp is real high on places I wanna visit._

They ate well, though by then Jess was heartily sick of seafood. Still, it was preferable to dried beef and salt pork, which was all they had left. Most all the tiny waterside settlements had fruits and vegetables to trade, but few eggs and no fresh meat.

The landscape began to change... less sandy beaches, more marshes, and beyond them stands of very tall trees—cypress swamps, so he was told. In some places pine barrens and scrub brush came right down to the shoreline. Settlements were more numerous, also—several had serviceable docks to which the _Jolie Rouge_ could tie up for the night. Jess was surprised to learn that only a few miles inland were farms... with cattle and hogs and poultry—which meant fresh meat could be bought. To everyone's relief, onboard cuisine improved in variety, with no seafood appearing on the menu.

 **Friday, November 7th...** In the early afternoon the dour engineer lumbered topside to inform Cap'n Booger, in lugubrious tones, of an impending mechanical difficulty.

"Rigged 'er best I could, Cap... but no tellin' how long she'll hold. We'll be needin' a machine shop."

Cap'n Booger pulled a face and dragged out another chart from the rack. Together they pored over it with Jess looking on, thanks to his recent navigational instruction pleased to be able to identify the landform they passing. Guarding the entrance to Mobile Bay, seventeen-mile-long Dauphine Island looked—on paper—like a tadpole with its bulbous head to the east and a whiplike tail to the west. The tail portion appeared to be nothing more than a sandy spine speckled with sea oats. As it widened out, however, saltgrass marshes dominated the shoreline while the slightly elevated interior held dense stands of pine and live oak, draped with shawls of grey-green air plant.

"Dya think she'll get us as far as the harbor, Scotty?"

"One can only hope, Cap. In any event, that's the closest we're likely to find a smith."

"I agree. Well... if she don't, she don't. We'll just hafta put in at the nearest inlet an' hoof it over to wharfside. 'Til then, proceed at dead slow."

"Aye, Cap'n."

As the engineer left the wheelhouse, Jess queried Cap'n Booger as to why he was looking so down in the mouth.

"It ain't like we're broke down out there somewhere." Jess waved a hand out toward the deeper water between the island and the mainland.

"It ain't that I'm worried about. It's where we're gonna have to moor the ole gal... right under the noses of the army garrison at Fort Gaines."

 **Jess' eyebrows drew together,** surging upwards. "They ain't got cause to bother us, do they? Or... do they?"

"Depends on who's in command an' what he's heard about me... an' about my activities during the war. They was just changin' over, last time I came through. The last fellow was an obliging bloke—inclined to leave me an' my crew be long as we caused no trouble. The new one might be some Yank horse's arse what wants to inspect the papers... passenger manifest an' customs declarations an' the like..."

"You _do_ have the right papers... don't you?"

"Oh indeed. Gobs of 'em. But if he insists on a visual inspection an' goes pokin' around..."

"Just how well hid is all that rum?"

"Let me put it this way... they'd have to shift tons of sugar an' salt to get at it. But there's another concern... you might've noticed many of our guests ain't what, on face value, you'd take fer God-fearin' law-abidin' citizens. Same might be said fer some a the crew."

"Now that you mention it..."

"You an' yer cousin are probably the only two travelin' under yer real names. Here... take a squizz at this..."

Cap'n Booger hauled out the passenger manifest and crew complement. Jess went down the lists—Brown, Jones, Green, Smith, White and so on.

"Not much imagination," Jess hooted.

"Lazy yobs!" the captain grunted.

 **The next two hours dragged by** as the _Jolie Rouge_ crept across Bayou Aloe, through Pass Chateague and into the grandly named Dauphin Island Bay. She passed through a narrow channel protected by an elongated dune to the northeast until popping out into a basin with a single low-lying quay and a stubby dock tucked in between marsh and a patch of pines. A dozen or so buildings constituted the commercial business district along the waterfront. In the distance, perhaps a half-mile away, loomed the brick walls of Fort Gaines. The only watercraft in sight were a military cutter, a dinghy and a couple of skiffs tied up at the dock.

Cap'n Booger gave the order to cut engines and the sternwheeler coasted the last few hundred feet to gently nose up to the quay. People streamed out of the few buildings to gawk, knots of off-duty soldiers among them. A few docksiders had the presence of mind to jump down and take the mooring lines thrown over to them by deckhands on the prow. The ladder was already crammed with passengers eager to disembark and wet their whistles at the nearest saloon.

A few crew bustled off on immediate business—the engineer and a helper to handcart the part requiring brazing to the one and only blacksmith, Alcide and two others to obtain provisions from the sole general store. Four other men were retained as first watch. The rest were granted recreational shore leave. Quietude descended on the _Jolie Rouge_ and those left onboard as all human presence vanished from the quay area.

 **Though eight years had passed** since the end of the war and most Southerners had adjusted to the heavy hand of Reconstruction, shreds of anxiety and resentment yet lingered in the souls of many—Jess Harper among them. Though too smart to ever publicly admit it, deep in his heart he still regarded 'the army' as an occupying force rather than the legal military arm of a victorious regime. True, he'd ridden dispatch for the Union Army toward the end... as a condition of survival rather than an urge to change sides. Sure, he'd since then worked with and for military establishments on the frontier, having learned you had to go along if you wanted to get along. Why, then, was he so bothered by the sight of boys in blue sizing up the boat and the men getting off her?

 _They ain't doin' nothin' but lookin'. Can't be much else for 'em to do, stuck on this dinky hunk a land in the middle a nowhere. Prob'ly not even any women. Why do I get the feelin' there's trouble comin'?_

When Cap'n Booger mentioned he wouldn't mind going out to pay his respects to some old friends of his, the resident pilot and his wife, Jess promptly volunteered to mind the boat from the third tier command post.

"Won't be too far off if you need me... their house is just behind the general store," the captain counseled. " 'Course, I'll no doubt be invited to supper so it might be awhile 'fore I get back."

"Take your time. I need a minute to go down and have a word with the boy, though. Don't want him goin' ashore."

" **I'm not a kid anymore!"** Jay Dee pouted... only partly in jest.

"Don't make me have to pull rank on you."

"Who died and made you king?"

"I'll tell your mother," Jess warned.

"Oh... well... in _that_ case..." Jay Dee flopped down on his bunk in disgust and picked up a book. He'd scavenged a small oil lamp from somewhere and rigged it to hang near the head of the bed.

"Stay here. I mean it," Jess reiterated before exiting the cabin.

Up in the wheelhouse, the sashes of all the awning windows were propped open to let in a crossbreeze. Lounging in the captain's chair with his bare feet propped against the instrument dash, Jess swatted a few hardy late-season mosquitoes and relished the solitude. It was getting harder and harder to recall those years when he'd ridden alone and slept alone, sometimes going days without seeing another human being. On the ranch there was always someone else within hailing distance. He and Slim usually worked together as a team, and when either worked alone it was hardly ever for more than a few hours.

 _Funny how your mind works... when you been around too many folks for too long, all you want is to get off by yourself somewheres. Then you get tired a bein' alone an' want company again. Kinda like a cat what can't decide if she wants to be inside or outside..._

Strictly speaking, Jess wasn't alone. Behind him on the quarterdeck a sentry was silently prowling. Another was patrolling the promenade deck. Two guarded the main deck—one stationed near the gangplank while another circled the walkaround. There were a few not unwelcome interruptions. The engineer came aboard and passed through to leave a message for the captain—the part wouldn't be ready until tomorrow noon. Returning with his minions pulling a handcart laden with purchases, Alcide came up to inquire if he could interest Jess in some sandwiches and a bottle or two of ice-cold lager.

 _Cold beer? In bottles? Since when? Hell, yeah!_

Jess happily consumed his sandwiches and beer as darkness encroached and lanterns were lit across the quayside, their golden glow reflected on the ripples. Peals of laughter and the syncopated plinking of a piano playing ragtime rolled out of the saloon. More and larger groups of soldiers came marching down the crushed shell road from the fort. In high-spirited anticipation, they funneled into a second saloon, separated by a modest grove of shrubby live oaks from the one inhabited by already overserved civilians. Jess observed that said grove was serving as public urinal for both establishments.

An astounding volume of beer was being recycled at a rapidly increasing rate, judging by the number of individuals stumbling out to relieve themselves. Adequate personal space to accomplish this was diminishing in direct proportion. Jess felt the first stirrings of premonition. Sooner or later there was going to be a close encounter of the most embarrassing kind...

 **It began with a single yell** of indignation by an alleged pissee, clearly audible as far as the wheelhouse, followed by a loudly derisive comment by the alleged pisser. Rudely voiced accusations were exchanged and the fistfight was on. Sides were taken as fellow urinators concluded their business and buttoned up, if still able. The noise attracted the attention of celebrants in both saloons. Soon the curious were wandering out, mugs in hand, to see what was occasioning the commotion. Within minutes both establishments emptied as a full-scale altercation got underway between soldiers and civilians.

Aside from being thoroughly entertained, Jess began to worry that the fight might spill over onto the quay and from there to the vessel he was temporarily in charge of defending. Fortunately, he'd brought up with him his pistol and gunbelt, and the captain's shotgun, always loaded, lay on the console within easy reach. Buckling up and stepping out with the shotgun onto the deck, Jess was met by the afterdeck guard, a youngster whose name he recalled as Spike.

"Whatcha want us to do, boss?" Spike queried.

"Nothing for now... unless they get too close. Might have to shoot over their heads. Go down an' tell the others."

"Will do." The boy vanished down the companionway.

Hearing ascending footsteps, Jess assumed it was Spike returning, but it was Jay Dee, carrying his own gunbelt.

"What're you doin' up here? I told you to stay put," Jess barked.

"Like hell! I'm not hiding in a closet like a girl," Jay Dee defied him.

"Better put that damned thing on, then," Jess said. "That gun loaded?"

Jay Dee rolled his eyes. "Duh! I wasn't expecting to _throw_ it at anyone."

 **It was inevitable that someone** would cross the line and fire a weapon. There was a scream of pain, a second of shocked silence... and an immediate renewal of hostilities, but louder. More gunshots... mass confusion... more howls as bullets found their marks. People running, others taking refuge behind the nearest solid objects and returning fire. Jess and Jay Dee both hit the deck as a wheelhouse window exploded in a shower of glass. On the quay, a shattered lantern sprayed burning oil on the boardwalk in front of the general store, setting it on fire.

As feared, combatants rolled over onto the quay itself. Men not in uniform—presumably crew and passengers—were attempting to separate themselves from the fray and straggling towards the boat's gangplank. The deck guards below were returning fire... not over heads, as Jess had instructed, but at individuals. Three soldiers went down, arms and legs thrashing. Men seeking to escape to the boat encountered a bottleneck at the gangplank and were swiftly overtaken by their pursuers.

Hearing—but not able to see— the hand-to-hand combat taking place belowdecks, Jess felt he had no choice but to go down and assist. As his hand reached down for the boot knife that wasn't there, Jess realized he hadn't worn his boots since they'd left Galveston. Shit! The galley... plenty of knives in there…

"Jay Dee... don't follow. No... don't argue... you're more use to me up here. Take this." He handed over the shotgun. "First man you don't know sticks his head up them stairs, blow it off!"

The boy nodded in mute acquiescence, showing the whites of his eyes.

Slithering down the companionway, Jess raced through the saloon and down the passageway to the galley. Alcide had to be in there... the door was locked from the inside.

"Alcide... it's me, Jess... open up, goddammit! I need a knife... biggest, sharpest one ya got."

The door inched open and the Cajun wordlessly passed through a heavy bone-handled Bowie knife honed to razor sharpness—obviously not cutlery intended for slicing onions. Jess couldn't have chosen better himself... and in the nick of time. It wasn't his intent to skewer the bear of a uniformed man coming at him through the hatch... but it was unavoidable. Stepping over the body, he descended to the main deck and launched himself into the fighting.

 **Though losing momentum,** the battle was still raging when a mounted detachment arrived from the fort. Everything stopped at the cease-fire bugle call. The troops fought their skittish horses to a standstill—evidently it'd been a while since either animals or riders had enjoyed any such excitement or smelled that much blood and gunpowder. Looking around and shaking his head in disgust, the captain called for all men still on their feet to separate into two groups—soldiers on one side, civilians on the other.

Calling for dismount, the leader identified himself as Captain Jinks. "And the first person who laughs gets thirty days in the guardhouse." No one emitted so much as a snicker.

"Now then... who's in charge here?" Then, when no one stepped forward, "Who can explain this travesty?"

A babble of voices breaking out on both sides was immediately snuffed by the captain's upraised hand.

"Stop! I want one man only... just one... to explain how this started."

A reedy voice piped up from among the civilians. "He pissed on my boots!"

"He... are you saying someone _urinated_ on you?" The captain looked incredulous. "Come out where I can see you."

A mousy middle-aged man was shoved to the forefront. He had frowsy hair and thick spectacles with a cracked lens.

"Can you identify the individual responsible?"

"Nawsir... it were dark... but 'e were a soljer... I know that for sure."

"True 'nough, captain sir," another man volunteered. "I was right there. I seen that soljer laugh at Abner here after he pissed him... on purpose, I say... an' then shoved 'im. It were my duty ta come to 'is aid."

"He hit Private Bailey first... I'll swear to it!" came another voice from the uniformed ranks.

Captain Jinks ran a hand over his face. "Private Bailey, front and center!"

A big brute of a grinning private shuffled forward, easily twice the size of Abner Sizemore. A chuckle broke out in both groups.

Captain Jinks looked skyward, addressing no one in particular. "Why me?" Looking around again, he asked for the mayor and anyone else considered an authority figure to make their presence known. This resulted in Cap'n Baldwin and William Hayworth, the harbor pilot and mayor of the unincorporated community, also venturing into the light provided by several lantern-bearers.

"Gentlemen, if you will accompany me into yonder Sailor's Retreat, we will interview every single one of these idiots if it takes all night."

And it did. But before it was over, the fire at the general store had to be put out (the boardwalk was destroyed but the store survived), the injured had to be rounded up and escorted or carried into the Mermaid's Tale (the other saloon), and the army doctor and his coterie of medics summoned from the fort. The soldier Jess had laid low was manhandled with no small difficulty down the spiral companionway, carried across the gangplank by four stalwart individuals and plunked down on the quay. Sergeant Efrem Gideon, at first deemed deceased, turned out not to be. The substantial layer of blubber girding his midsection was enough to deflect Jess' knife thrust.

Captain Jinks declined to bring charges against Jess, in consideration of several factors not in the sergeant's favor: he was universally disliked by his fellow soldiers, he was trespassing on private property, and he was massively inebriated. Jess couldn't decide whether he was annoyed at his failure to dispatch his assailant... or thankful to have avoided incarceration. The commandant of the fort regretfully concurred with the captain of the boat that in this instance the army was at fault, having instigated the affair, and was responsible for damages.

Four passengers and two crew had disappeared in the brouhaha. The repaired part was restored to the engine compartment, replacement window glass would have to wait until a glazier could be found in a larger town, and other minor damage was repaired to the extent possible. _Jolie Rouge_ backed away from the quay and out to the gulf through the channel separating the island from Alabama's Mobile Point peninsula. Cap'n Booger announced they would be making the entry into Pensacola Bay in two days.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12:_ **ARRIVAL**

 **Tuesday, November 11th...** Once again Jess was laid up in his bunk—not due to malaise this time, but the aftereffects of the fight on the main deck. Not the only one with a knife, he'd sustained a number of lacerations and a fairly deep cut on the torso above his right hipbone that had required stitching by the army doctor. He was also sporting a notable collection of bruises. And he ached all over. Hated to admit it but he just wasn't as agile as he used to be. Nor were his recuperative powers as swift. Felt a little guilty about wallowing in bed instead of making himself useful... but not guilty enough to dissuade Alcide from fussing over him and waiting on him. Cap'n Booger, looking in, advised him to enjoy the rest while he could. Soon enough he'd be dealing with a lot worse than men with fists and knives. _Like what?_ Jess wondered.

Having offered up his services as replacement crew, Jay Dee'd taken to going about barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but tattered denim britches cut off above the knee. Blessed with an olive complexion that didn't burn, he'd rapidly acquired a deep brown tan and sun-bleached highlights in his hair. Whenever they stopped at a settlement, whatever women happened to be around stopped and stared longingly. The California boy was oblivious, having the time of his life. Not that he wanted to live here permanently. But maybe someday, after college, he'd might like to get himself a sailboat.

 **Reaching the pass at the tip** of the next barrier island—Perdido Key, Cap'n Booger turned the boat into Bayou Saint John then east into the narrow channel called Old River between Perdido and Ono Island. They had to hold for high tide in order to navigate the shallow cut over to Big Lagoon and barely made it through Pensacola Pass on the ebb tide. The captain called Jess topside to view—as they traversed the entrance to Pensacola Bay—the fortifications of Fort Pickens on the southernmost reach of Santa Rosa Island, where his brother had been held prisoner.

Jess regarded the barren sandy spit thoughtfully. "Don't look all that big to me. If he's livin' there—like the Pinkertons said he might be—shouldn't be too hard to find 'im."

"Was I lookin' to keep meself ta meself, that'd the last place I'd set up shop. That piece a real estate's only three quarters of a mile at its widest point—some places only a few hundred yards, an' nearly fifty miles long. Mostly nothin' but sand dunes an' sea oats. Bushes an' trees too stunted to hide a billy goat in. Nah... if he's anywhere it'll be on the other side a the bay... in the cypress swamps."

"Oh," Jess said, clearly disappointed, turning to leave.

"Hold on, son... whyn't ya make yerself comfortable? We're followin' Santa Rosa Sound now an' we'll be there in a little over an hour."

"Be... where?"

"Walton's Landing... where the search begins."

" **Guess we'll be partin' company** then, huh?"

 _Figures... just when I'm startin' to feel at home, it's time to get off the boat..._

The captain continued as if he hadn't heard. "These days there's only a skeleton force on duty an' a small tradin' post with a floatin' dock. Not enough shippin' goin' through to justify a customs office. A fair number a settlements strung out along the bay an' plenty more back along the bayous."

"What do folks do for a livin', this far away from civilization?" Jess asked, curious.

"Why, cattle, my boy. Away from the water, most a the state's flat grasslands. Grass that stays green year 'round, no hard winters, dependable water. Durin' the war, Florida shipped more beef north to supply the troops than Texas."

"I didn't know that." Jess was surprised.

" 'Course, they hadda be drove to the nearest railheads, just like anywheres else."

Jess tried to picture cattle ranching in a place with no snow or desperate winters—where forage didn't have to be supplemented with hay and waterholes didn't dry up in scorching summers. On the other hand, unrelieved flat landscape in every direction. No soaring mountain ranges whose snow-capped beauty took your breath away in the pink and rose of dawn or the gold and purple of sunset. Would he want to live out his life here? No. Home was where he'd rather be. Not the home of his Texas childhood but that of his adopted land—Wyoming.

 **Other than the waterway** through which they were currently traveling, Choctawhatchee Bay had only one direct access to the Gulf of Mexico... a pass between the eastern terminus of Santa Rosa Island and the western tip of a peninsula called Moreno Point. Reaching the end of the sound, _Jolie Rouge_ steamed through a pinchpoint between mainland and island so narrow that a man could easily jump overboard and paddle to dry land on either side. Here Cap'n Booger called for a reduction in speed in order to execute a sweeping left turn to the settlement informally known as Walton's Landing.

Above a ferry landing could be seen the crumbling remains of a fortified guard post—only two of the buildings in habitable repair. According to the captain, the camp had been established by Walton County's Florida Volunteer Infantry and manned by the 'Walton Guards' with a view toward protecting the bay from incursion by Union forces. It had been in operation only a year before being abandoned. The federal government currently maintained a detachment at 'Camp Walton', mainly as an ongoing reminder to the vanquished inhabitants of the region as to who was in charge these days.

Several soldiers turned out to watch the boat pull up to a primitive dock where two civilians—guides for hire—waited to catch the lines. An assemblage of pirogues, rowboats and square-nosed punts nestled on the opposite side of the dock, jostling one another in the wake of the sternwheeler.

Here at Walton's Landing there were no saloons to entice thirsty travelers. A lone trading post offered only the most basic of goods and liquor was served at a crude plank bar resting on wooden barrels. Cap'n Jack announced that, although this was the end of the line, anyone needing overnight accommodation was welcome to sleep onboard... at a day rate, of course. And meals were payable upon service. Four of the passengers besides Jess and Jay Dee elected to stay. Carrying their possessions, the rest disembarked, some hiking off down a dirt road and others dickering with the guides for passage elsewhere. The remaining four apparently were waiting to make connections later that day or the next, according to how swiftly bush telegraph worked in this part of the world.

" **How long before you shove off?"** Jess and the captain were taking late lunch in the saloon.

"Two, three days. Long as it takes to offload most a the cargo."

"Been meanin' to ask... how you aim ta sell that much salt an' sugar when there ain't hardly no folks around?"

Cap'n Booger chortled. "Oh... just 'cause you don't see 'em don't mean they ain't there. Word gets out we're here, they'll come. Wait 'n see." He went on to explain that settlers hereabouts were pretty much self-sufficient except for items such as salt, sugar, tobacco and rum. Part of the hold was reserved for what he called 'peddler goods'... tools and ammunition for the men, household items for the women.

Why court the dangers of running contraband, Jess wanted to know? Why not engage in legitimate trade? Because, according to the captain, the financial gain far outweighed the consequences of being caught. The crippling tariffs levied on imported goods by the various governments—federal, state and local, contributed to the popularity and prevalence of smuggling. Out and out open-sea piracy had mostly gone out of style, being too public and inviting retaliation by authorities.

Besides, Cap'n Booger reasoned, there was a humanitarian aspect to be considered. All them damned taxes meant merchants had to jack up retail prices far beyond what the lower strata of society could afford to pay. And there were a _lot_ of poor people in coastal Florida. He called it the 'Robin Hood Theory of Applied Economics'. While Jess didn't know about this economics business, he _did_ know about the legendary outlaw and had no difficulty understanding taking from those who had more than they needed and sharing with those who had little or nothing.

"If these folks don't have any money, whadda they pay you with?"

"Hides, mostly. Some furs. Gator hides command high prices up north, places like New York City... for boots an' suitcases an' such. But it's gotta be tanned afore it can be shipped. That's why them swamp hunters need so much salt."

Jess flinched, recalling all those casually slaughtered alligators that had sunk out of reach on the trip here. What a waste! But that had nothing to do with his current situation...

" **I was hopin' you was gonna** help me out, findin' a reliable guide an' a boat an' whatnot..." Jess ventured. "Maybe give me some pointers on where to start?"

"Well... that _was_ the original plan," the captain said, "but me and my business partner talked it over an' decided it wouldn't hurt to visit settlements around the bay an' up some a the larger bayous far as _Jolie_ can go. Two frogs with one gig, ya know?"

"I don't unnerstand. Why would he wanna help out a stranger? How would that benefit his share?" Jess was mystified... at the same time relieved.

Cap'n Booger smiled beatifically. " 'Cause _she_ wants to... an' we'll maybe drum up some new business on the side. You never know."

Illumination blossomed. _SHE. Of course. I shoulda figured that out long before this—Missus Rosalie Mount, lady of mysterious means._

"I'm grateful, Cap'n. What happens next?"

The captain stood up and stretched as Alcide appeared to whisk away their dishes. "I'd recommend you go over an' see the commandant at the fort. Pick his brains for whatever good that might do. I got customers to attend."

Following the captain's pointed finger, Jess observed two vehicles and a wheelbarrow approaching on the dirt road from the woods. The two-wheeled carts, one drawn by a mule and the other by a pair of yoked bullocks, reminded him of the Red River carts used by the Métis fur traders up in Montana.

 **The 'commandant',** one Sergeant Gerald Laughlin, was delighted to have company... particularly as the caller presented two bottles of imported rum—compliments of the sternwheeler captain. The grizzled veteran shrewdly neglected to question how said captain had happened to come by such a fine product. After listening to Jess' explanation of his quest, the man summoned his detachment—all six of them—and popped corks, sharing all around. None of the men were under forty. All had been relegated to this pestiferous stinking outhouse of an army post due to various—and oft repeated—infractions. None were in complete uniform, including the sergeant who invited Jess to call him 'Gerry', informality being the order of the day.

None of the seven soldiers had been there when the Pinkertons had come to call and were unable to contribute any solid information in addition to what Jess already had in his possession. However, they weren't lacking in local folklore and tall tales of hermits... men more feral than human who communicated in grunts and gestures, dressed in skins and subsisted almost entirely off the land. Crazier than shithouse rats, most of 'em. Women, too. Evidently there were tribes of pseudo-natives breeding deep in the swamps.

Every settlement reported instances of these anonymous wildlings coming in once or twice a year to barter alligator hides and nutria pelts for items they couldn't grow, hunt or make for themselves. Declining—or unable—to offer formal identification, many were assigned cognomens by settlers. As the soldiers bandied known nicknames back and forth, one in particular caught Jess' attention—'Carp'. Perhaps a contraction of 'Carlton Harper'? Seemed awfully farfetched but Jess was eager to grasp at any straw, no matter how fragile. Unfortunately, as 'Carp' hadn't been seen in this area, no physical description was available. Jess was advised to try settlements further north on the bay's shoreline.

 **Thursday, November 13th...** The _Jolie Rouge_ was cruising the fingers of sinuous Cinco Bayou and making brief stopovers at settlements with undeservedly descriptive names such as Sleepy Oaks Point, Wisteria Inlet, Sunset Slough, Lafitte Inlet, Cinco Point and Pocahontas Landing. The undulating shoreline was an unrelieved ribbon of sawgrass marsh backed by live oaks and tall pines. Each successive 'settlement' looked exactly like the previous one... two or three huts in varying stages of construction or dilapidation, a handful of colorless adults in colorless, much-patched clothing, half-naked malnourished children, a skinny pig or two, a few molting chickens. Cap'n Booger left each one with a selection of provisions worth far more than these sad people's meager barter goods.

Next came Dons, Chula Vista and Garnier bayous, with a hard turn east at Paradise Point into Hand Cove and Poquito Bayou. Same scenery, different bodies of water.

Why folks would choose to live this way was beyond Jess. Of course, in retrospect he had to acknowledge his own upbringing wasn't any better—same grinding poverty, but without the water and green vegetation.

A curve westward and south took them around Shalimar Point and past Snug Harbor back to the main body of the bay. Rounding Harbor Point, things started to look up. Instead of 'sloughs', the next two inlets were identified on the chart as lakes Clyde and Vivian. The terrain ended abruptly at steep grassy banks. More substantial dwellings appeared in clusters under canopies of tall graceful pines, with proper fencing and gardens. Beyond the houses could be seen open fields with grazing livestock. Cap'n Booger didn't stop at any of these but tooted the boat's whistle at children waving from the docks.

Checking the chart, Jess was appalled to find they'd covered only a tiny portion of this enormous bay—almost forty miles long and anywhere from seven to fifteen miles wide. At the rate they were going it would take weeks to work all the way around. Before he could complain, the captain advised that—until they reached Boggy—they were going to bypass all landings exhibiting signs of prosperity and stop only at the poorer settlements to take on wood and potable water. It was his feeling that what they were searching for would most likely be found in the snake- and alligator-infested brackish sloughs. After the next two bayous—Bowles and Weekley—came Toms and Boggy. Remembering that Boggy was the name Captain Carlton Harper had given as his home base, Jess appealed to the captain to make directly for the town, but the latter insisted on adhering to his itinerary.

 **Sunday, November 16th...** Despite its unattractive name, Boggy proved anything but. Instead, it was a gracious community of wide shell-paved streets and avenues on solid, sandy terrain shaded by ancient live oaks. Palm trees and tall pines abounded. There was a surprising variety of shopping venues, services of all types and numerous well-maintained private residences—in all respects an unexpected oasis of civilization compared to what Jess had experienced since leaving Galveston. The reason for this, he later learned, was its proximity to the military highway to the north linking Pensacola and Tallahassee, the state capital, and an anticipated railway connection within the next decade. Also underfoot were plans by the federal corps of engineers to dredge the two entrances to Choctawhatchee Bay to allow for passage of ocean-going freighters, which would boost the economy of every single hamlet along its shores and Boggy's in particular. Boggy aimed to be at the forefront of the future shipping industry.

The foreshore had already been dredged and fortified against erosion by a coquina-mortared seawall, with a small-craft marina at one end and a commercial wharf at the other. Presently there were no other vessels moored at the wharf— _Julie Rouge_ had it all to herself, attracting the attention of après-church strollers. Jess hadn't realized it was Sunday, having completely lost track of time.

As Boggy had its own police force, there was no need for a guard. Cap'n Booger granted shore leave to the entire crew.

"Do we stay onboard or what?" Jess asked.

"Can if you want," the captain shrugged. "I got other fish to fry. Alcide won't be cooking tonight so you're on your own."

"Meant, do we sleep here... or can you recommend a good hotel? I sure could use a haircut an' a hot bath."

"Ah... that would be the Lafayette on Cozette Drive. Private bathrooms. Barbershop and restaurant across the street. I'll be stayin' there meself."

"Good enough for me. You wanna meet up for supper?"

"Six o'clock would suit me fine."

"See ya then..."

 **Left to his own devices,** Jess was unaccountably at loose ends. Jay Dee was nowhere to be found—in fact, he'd hardly been seen at all lately... and when he was, it was always in nothing but those brief britches. He'd quit shaving and his hair brushed his shoulders. How was Jess gonna explain to Missus Kelly that her baby boy had gone bush—a term Jess'd learned from Cap'n Booger. Hiking down a coquina-and-cement sidewalk (now _there_ was an interesting innovation... cement instead of wood), Jess came to a dead halt in the realization that he wasn't looking much like his usual self either... with two days' worth of stubble, thick dark curls tickling his shirt collar, feet encased in those ridiculous canvas shoes (when was the last time he'd worn his boots?), untucked tail of his white cotton shirt billowing in the breeze, faded-out denims worn to a smooth satiny finish.

How long since he'd worn his Stetson? Rode a horse? Tossed back a whiskey in a real saloon? Been with a woman? This was _not_ his world. He felt like an alien. And he was terribly, terribly homesick.

Somehow, his feet had taken him right to the front door of the Lafayette Hotel. Should he go in and register and get that bath? Or should he try to get a fix on that errant cousin of his? In the end personal comfort won out. He wondered if the concierge might take exception to his less than presentable appearance but that personage didn't flicker an eyelash.

"Would you prefer a room on the same floor as Captain Baldwin, sir?"

"How d'ya know I'm with him?"

"We heard he was in town as soon as the boat docked, sir… and that he had an important guest. The captain always stays in the same room."

"Yeah... good. Same floor... oh... an' I'll be needin' two rooms or one with two beds... got a teenage cousin runnin' loose that I need to round up."

"Very good, sir. Numbers three-oh-two and three-oh-three are connecting rooms. The captain has the corner suite... three-oh-one."

"What about a hot bath?"

"Private bathing facilities are located here on the first floor—at the end of that corridor near the boiler room. Hot water is available any time of the day or night, sir. You're welcome to go on back right now if you wish. The attendant's name is Jonas."

"Yeah… thanks. I'd sure like that." A hot bath never sounded so good.

 **The 'bathing facilities'** turned out to be one large room with six oversize copper tubs, each in a partitioned cubby—much like stalls in a stable. The attendant was solicitous but not obnoxiously so. When he saw his patron wincing with a hand to his side as he sank into the tub, Jonas automatically added Epsom salts to the steaming water. He couldn't help noticing the stitches.

"Suh, dey wants comin' out, you don't mind my sayin'."

"Where'm I gonna find a doctor on a Sunday, Jonas?"

"Doan need no doctuh foah dat, no suh. Ah kin fix dat for you. Mought sting a bit."

"I'd appreciate it."

"No problem, suh. You come out, we takes care o' dat den."

"Thanks, Jonas. Hey... if I doze off, can you wake me up in an hour?"

"Certainly, suh."

Jonas kept the hot water coming. Little by little, Jess' anxieties melted away. He felt refreshed and motivated by the time he got out. As promised, removal of the stitches was quick and mostly pain-free. Jonas gave him a vial of carbolic solution and some gauze to daub it with, admonishing him not to scratch.

Drying off, it suddenly occurred to Jess that he'd checked in without his luggage… or a change of clothing. Upon mentioning that to Jonas, the latter advised that while he'd been lounging in the bath, Captain Baldwin had arranged to have his and his cousin's belongings sent along to the hotel, where they'd already been taken upstairs.

Dressed in clean clothes, Jess was ready to take on the next stage of the search. While shaving, he'd tried to visualize what Tony might look like now. He'd been four and his two older brothers, Carlton and Jonathan, had been sixteen and fifteen, respectively, when they'd run away from home. He couldn't quite remember their faces, only that they'd had blue eyes the same hue as his. Jon was confirmed dead in the war, of course. If Tony were still alive, would he even be recognizable at forty-one?

Francie… would he even know her if he found her now? When he'd last seen her—at the end of the war and then only briefly—she'd been nineteen and two years married to Gil Brady. She'd have been twenty-one when she'd gone missing in the epidemic—twenty-seven now, if still living. If so, was she aware of Gil's death three years ago? Was she perhaps remarried… with the children Gil couldn't give her but a new husband could?

So many questions…

 **Over excellent fire-grilled** steaks and baked potatoes drenched in butter, sour cream and shaved sharp cheddar cheese, Cap'n Booger and Jess discussed plans for the next day.

"Soon's the courthouse opens for business we'll go over the records—census, plats, property taxes," the captain said.

"Pinks already done that."

"So... we'll go over 'em again. They ain't infallible. They make mistakes. They miss things... an' they don't always know what to look for."

"Like what?"

"When a man don't wanna be found, first thing he does is change 'is name."

"Then what good...?"

"Son... pay attention. When yer choosin' an alias you 'spect you'll be livin' with for a spell, it's always best not to stray too far from the original. It can be as simple as reversin' what ya got... Harper Carlton, fr'instance."

"Well... he didn't do that. He enlisted under his real name."

"True... but he may not a been livin' under it here. Another thing people do is use their mother's maiden name..."

"She was a Rudd, Elizabeth Anne..."

"So when yer lookin' over these records," the captain continued, "keep yer eye peeled for any name what seems familiar..."

"I see..."

"Now... for whatever reason, he mighta done the changin' after gettin' home from the war... so the years we need ta be checkin' ain't just afore he enlisted, but after he were discharged from prison."

"Okay. An' after that?"

"Newspaper office... archives for the same time periods."

"Did they even have a newspaper here back then?"

"Town was young then... nothin' like what it is now, but they managed to crank out a single sheeter once a week."

They stopped talking while the waitress presented dessert options.

"Don't you have some stuff to take care of with the boat?" Jess asked. "I mean, I'm obliged for the help an' all but..."

"Done an' dusted. Contracted with the warehouse manager on the wharf to unload everythin' an' lock it up. Him an' me's old mates. He'll have buyers in tomorrow an' take care a everythin' for me... for a cut, natcherly. Crew's paid up to date an' I offered 'em a bonus if they show up three days from now an' sign back on. That includes yer cousin. He earned it, this past week."

"Speakin' a Jay Dee," Jess ventured, "You seen him today? I'm gettin' kinda worried he's took up with questionable company... an' now that the boy's got jingle in his pockets..."

Cap'n Booger gave Jess a sly sideways glance. "If yer referrin' to my crew, I hate ta be the one ta tell ya but..."

"But what? Is he all right? Nothin's happened to him, has it?"

"Oh... he's fine as frog hair. My boys're lookin' after 'im proper. Don't forget... they got money in their pockets, too, an' they know just where an' how they wanna spend it."

"Oh no..." Jess bleated, pale-faced. "You don't mean...?"

"I do mean. But don't you fret none. Sunset House's real discreet an' the gals're clean. Miss Susie sees to that. She don't allow no drunkenness, rowdy behavior or loiterin', neither. The lad'll be snug in his bed next door to yers by midnight."

 _She gets wind a this, Missus Kelly's gonna kill me an' then consign me to the everlastin' flames…_


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13:_ **VISITATIONS**

 **Monday, November 17th...** In the dusty and cobweb-strewn bowels of the courthouse, Cap'n Booger and Jess Harper pored over records with moderate success. The census of 1860 revealed a Harper, Carlton J, age 28, spouse Minnie, age 17, infant daughter. Jess thought he was going to pass out with excitement. His premature glee withered on the vine when they struck out with the 1870 census. No Harpers listed.

Diverted to the Walton County registrar's records prior to 1860, it was discovered that Carlton James Harper, age 27, and Minnie Agnes Ragsdale, age 16, had been united in holy matrimony in the month of November 1859, by a justice of the peace. The birth of a child, Samantha Jane Harper, was recorded in September, 1860.

Property records yielded the information that in 1855 Harper, C.J. acquired 160 acres of prime bottomland and good pasturage abutting Turkey Creek some miles to the north of Boggy. Taxes were paid in full and on time through 1862, during which year Harper enlisted in the army. In 1866 the then-abandoned property was seized for non-payment of taxes and sold at auction.

"How'd they expect him to pay taxes when he was off fightin' a war an' then held prisoner?" Jess snorted. "That ain't fair."

"No. It ain't, but that's how it were," Cap'n Booger agreed. "Wonder what become of the child?"

"How do we find out?"

"Newspaper office."

"That old lady in Seattle sure didn't get her money's worth outta that detective agency," Jess huffed as they hoofed it over to the offices of the _Bayou Clarion_. "She oughta sue the bastards."

"You seem to be forgettin' somethin', Jess," the shorter man puffed, trying to keep up.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"If we find this daughter... even if we don't find _him_... there goes your inheritance."

Jess stopped then, bending over to catch his breath and ease the stinging at the site of the stab wound. When he stood up again, his face reflected pain... not of the physical sort. His voice was on the verge of breaking when he spoke.

"I don't know if you got any kin, Cap," he said quietly, "... but I don't. At least, that's been my thinkin' for more years than I care to remember. It's hard to describe... the feelin' of bein' alone. I mean _really_ alone. No family. Bein' the last one. Money's one thing... but I'd druther find out if I got any livin' relatives. You unnerstand?"

Cap'n Booger patted him on the shoulder. "I do, son. Believe me, I do."

 **The owner-editor of the** _ **Clarion**_ was sympathetic and helpful. His archives were in the attic, hot and stuffy in addition to being dusty and overridden with mice and silverfish—tons of yellowing pellet-stained newsprint too heavy to haul up and down the perilously narrow staircase. Too obese to negotiate the stairs himself, the man provided them with a good lantern and a plea that they refrain from smoking and try not to knock over the lantern and set the attic on fire.

"Sure wish Rosalie was helpin' us with this," Cap'n Booger muttered miserably after three sweltering non-productive hours.

Jess coughed, rivulets of dust-streaked sweat running down his face, chest and back.

"Why? Can she read faster than us?"

"Yes. An' she woulda divined where we need to look within the first fifteen minutes without even perspirin'."

"You mean guessed?"

"No. I mean _know_... for sure. Coulda pointed us right to it."

"She some kinda witch or somethin'?"

"You just now figgerin' that out?" The captain was dead serious.

Jess imagined he felt an icy draft tickling the back of his neck. And just like that... he found it... as if the mere mention of a voodoo queen's name were enough to break the spell...

 _ **Boggy Clarion, December 1, 1866.**_ _ **WOMAN, LOVER FOUND MURDERED...**_ _The body of Minnie Agnes Harper, née Ragsdale, age 23, was discovered at her residence at 9:45 a.m. Tuesday by Constable Michael Moody, responding to a summons by a concerned neighbor. County Coroner Alfred Smith confirms death was caused by blunt force trauma, effected through application of a brass candle stand to the head. Also found on the premises was the body of Lawrence Lattimore, age 34, shot through the heart. No witnesses have stepped forward. Sought for questioning in the double murder is Carlton J. Harper, age 34, husband of the deceased._

 _According to neighbors, who wish to remain anonymous, Mrs. Harper began cohabiting with Mr. Lattimore within a year of her husband having been reported missing in action at the Battle of Mobile Bay. It has recently come to light that Captain Harper, having been held in captivity as a prisoner of war at Fort Pickens, was released from durance vile on or about November 15th. Neighbors speculate that Captain Harper, having returned to Boggy unannounced, discovered his wife and her paramour_ in flagrante _and retaliated by dispatching them both. Missing is the minor child of Captain and Mrs. Harper._

 _Citizens are urged to come forth with any information as to the whereabouts of Carlton J. Harper or his daughter, Samantha Jane Harper, approximate age 6. Captain Harper is described as standing approximately 5'10" tall, weight approximately 150 lbs., black wavy hair, blue eyes. He is to be considered armed and dangerous._

" **Whether or not he actually** committed the murders, this would certainly be reason enough for him to go to ground," Cap'n Booger opined after reading the article. He looked up to find Jess staring at him in numb despair.

"That's it. We'll never find 'im now. One thing all us boys was good at was hidin' out. Pa always found us—eventually—an' beat the shit outta us. That's why him and Jon run off soon's they was old enough to live on their own. I weren't but a little 'un but I remember Tony swearin' he was gonna come back some day an' kill Pa for the way he done us an' Ma. He never did. I remember wishin' I was old enough to do it myself."

"What happened?" Cap'n Booger inquired.

"There was a fire... me an' my sister Francie an' our baby brother Davey was the only ones got out. He died a the flux the next year. Even now when I think on that ole man I wish I could dig 'em up an' kill 'im all over again... slowly."

"Seems like death by immolation was horrible enough, though."

"Yeah... I guess so."

"Well, don't give up just yet. Let's make sure there ain't no follow-up articles... arrest records or sightings or whatnot."

Jess moaned. "Cap'n, I don't believe I can last through seven more years a newsprint!"

But he did... and seven years' worth of records at the police station. There was no further mention of the Harper-Lattimore murders other than details of the well-attended interment. The captain's further suggestions were equally unwelcome.

"If we get a move on, we might could have a gander at the guest register at the funeral parlor."

"You gotta be kiddin'!"

"I'm bettin' a bunch a scandalmongers turned up at that funeral. We need to talk to them 'anonymous' neighbors. People often know more'n they know they know... if y'know what I mean. An' any kinfolk a Minnie's, if there's any around."

"Can we quit for today, Cap'n? I'm plumb wore out."

"Well... all right, then. How's about we go back to the hotel, get cleaned up, have a good supper—since we missed lunch—an' get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we'll do the undertaker an' I have a couple other ideas of folks we could talk to."

Wrung out as a dishrag and miserable, Jess agreed without argument.

 **Tuesday, November 18th...** That day and the next were entirely consumed in interviewing anyone they were able to locate whose name appeared on the list of funeral attendees. Not everyone was willing to talk, but those who did contributed nuggets of observation which Cap'n Booger dutifully recorded in a little notebook like those carried by policemen, which, in fact, he'd appropriated from an open supply cabinet at the station when no one was looking. A portrait began to emerge of a man very much like Jess himself.

The most voluble of those consenting to be interviewed was Minnie's oldest brother, Jimbo Ragsdale, who'd lived just across Turkey Creek from the Harper's former place. He and Carlton had been close friends who often hunted together and helped each other out on their respective farms. The last time he'd seen his brother-in-law was the day they enlisted in the Florida Volunteer Infantry. Jimbo was the first to remark how very much Jess resembled his missing brother, even sounded like him. He was a fount of information regarding Carlton's habits, likes and dislikes, disposition, tendencies and a number of other personal characteristics.

Jimbo seemed to falter when Jess asked him outright if he believed Carlton was responsible for murdering his sister and her lover.

"Well... I'll tell ya... I loved my sister, but she always was a needy little thing... sweet but not too smart an' incapable of lookin' after herself... generally helpless an' easily flustered. 'Specially after our folks passed. That's why she married so young, so she'd have a man all her own to look after her. Carlton was the man for the job. He made sure she never had to worry about responsibilities."

"But he joined up an' left her on her own," Jess nodded sadly. "What was he thinkin'?"

"We believed it was our duty, Jess… a just and holy cause. We assumed my wife would take Minnie under her wing and guide her along. Ethel'd always been a take-charge sorta woman. I knew she could run our farm and theirs, too, with a couple of hired hands. We really weren't expectin' the war to reach out an' touch us this far out in the middle a nowhere. We thought we'd win and then come back to find everything the same as we'd left it."

"What happened to change that, Jimbo?" Jess prodded.

"Ethel died in childbirth while I was away. My parents took in my other kids. The hired hands got conscripted. Wasn't anyone left to do the farmwork. The bank called in the mortgages on both farms. Minnie moved into town with the baby. Got herself a job an' held it together for a while... 'til came word about Carlton missin' in action, presumed dead. She couldn't deal with bein' a widow... an' then she met Larry."

"You knew him?"

"Oh yeah... nice enough man. He took good care a her an' the baby, though the neighbors weren't happy about them livin' in sin right next door."

"You still ain't answered my question."

"Do I think he did it? I don't know, but I can't fault him if he did. All I can say is that if I'da come home from the war to find my wife shackin' up with another man, I probably woulda done the exact same thing."

Just before Cap'n Booger and Jess were about to take their leave, Jess remembered one last question.

"Did Carlton ever go by another name that you know of?"

Jimbo chuckled. "Oh... we called each other a whole buncha names."

"I mean like a nickname..."

"Sure... us an' some a the other boys useta take a big boat out on the bay, where we could fish an' drink an' act the fool without our women gettin' on to us. We useta kid Tony about havin' the biggest mouth... we called 'im 'Carp'.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14:_ **REVELATIONS**

 **Thursday, November 20th...** _"Dear Mom and Dad... Sorry I have not written you sooner. As soon as we got into Galveston, a lot of interesting things started happening. We met these very nice folks who invited us to stay in their house right on the beach. Mom... you would like Miss Rosalie—you have a lot in common. I have written down some of her recipes and home remedies for Bo Hai to try out. The first week she and Jess went around visiting different places trying to find out anything about his sister but no luck. Or I guess I should say, some luck—they know she was in the Catholic hospital for a while but then she disappeared. Jess was real sad about that._

 _Jess got awful blisters from all that walking around and could not put on his boots for a week. Since there was nothing for me to do I spent all my time with Miss Rosalie's daughter Cecelia who is almost my age. We went swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and went clam digging and crabbing. Do not worry... we were never alone together. They take care of a bunch of orphan children and there were always kids with us. Cecelia teaches one day a week at a primary school and I sat in on her class. I also helped out with chores like chopping wood and cleaning fish._

 _We boarded a sternwheeler paddleboat and headed east from Texas along the coast to Pensacola Bay in Florida. I know you are looking that up in the atlas right now. Sometimes we were out on the ocean and sometimes between barrier islands and the mainland, on what they call the intracoastal waterway. The captain's name is Bruce Baldwin but he goes by 'Booger'. The name of our boat is 'Jolie Rouge', which means 'Pretty Red' and does not mean redheaded girl as you might think but refers to French privateers of the 1600s and 1700s who used to fly a Jolly Roger flag that was red instead of black. Jolie Rouge flies an American flag, by the way, although Captain Booger says she flew a Confederate flag until the end of the war._

 _Nothing much happened except for one bad storm and Jess being seasick. I have never seen so much puke in my life and, Mom, I want you to know I helped clean it up. I can see you rolling your eyes. Saw my first alligator and, boy, was it scary. As big as a cow. That reminds me... in addition to a LOT of fish we often eat alligator meat and it is not bad. I will bring you a recipe... ha ha._

 _Oh, and there was a fight at one place we stopped, between sailors and soldiers stationed at a fort. There was some shooting but no one was killed and none of us from the boat got arrested. Jess told me to stay up in the wheelhouse, which I did. All the fighting was down below so I did not have to shoot anyone. Jess got stabbed with a knife but not too bad. Maybe I should not have told you that._

 _So then we got to Choctawhatchee Bay which used to be called Santa Rosa Bay, which is the general area where Jess' brother might be living since the war if he is not dead. It has got to where I do not actually spend much time with Jess because I started helping the crew—you know, for something to do to keep busy. In my opinion traveling by boat as a_ _passenger_ _is almost as boring as traveling by train._

 _It took a long time to go all the way around the top half of this bay because we were 'gunkholing', according to Captain Booger. This means we travel close to shore in shoal water (shallow) and stop at every cove, inlet and slough along the way to trade with people who live out here away from civilization as we know it. This boat is like a floating general store. Sometimes there's no dock and we just nose up to a muddy bank (mud is called 'gunk'). Captain Booger says they use jungle telegraph, whatever that is, so most times the people know we are coming and they are already waiting for us with their trade items so we are there only an hour or so. If our last stop is near sunset we tie up or drop anchor for the night._

 _You are not going to believe this but the town (yes... a_ _real_ _town!) we are staying in for a few days is called 'Boggy'' on account of it is on 'Boggy Bayou.' We are staying in a very nice hotel called the Lafayette. The captain is taking Jess to meet 'someone important' today. He would not say who, only that it is a surprise for Jess. They both got dressed up like they are going to a wedding or something. Tomorrow we get back on the boat and will be traveling up the Choctawhatchee River._

 _Well... I am going to stop here and walk this over to the post office. Love you and miss you all! Sorry about missing Thanksgiving._

 _Your loving son, Jay Dee"_

" _ **Dear Slim and Daisy and Mike...**_ _Found out Francie was in Galveston like Gil said but not there now. She got sick and was in the hospital run by nuns but then a hurricane came and no one knows what happened to her after that. Heard some rumors about where Tony might be but using a different name somewhere around this Choctawhatchee Bay. I copied the name off the map so no jokes from you, Slim. Should have wrote more but I have to give this to Jay Dee so he can mail it along with a letter to his folks. We are in a town called Boggy and the captain says there won't be any postal service after this. We are in good health...hope you are, too._

 _Your friend, Jess"_

" **Are we there yet?"** Jess grumped as he and the captain shared a cab trotting smartly along a boulevard paralleling the waterfront. This morning, at Cap'n Booger's direction, he'd got a close shave and a haircut before sashaying out to buy a decent pair of trousers, a ruffled dress shirt, a vest and a coatjacket. The captain loaned him some cufflinks and a tie. He'd clipped and filed his fingernails and dug out all the gook he could from under them. He'd polished and spit-shined his boots and given his hat a good brushing and spot-cleaning. They were off to visit someone in an upperclass neighborhood. More than that Cap'n Booger refused to say.

"Just another mile or two. Quit fidgetin' an' act your age. Miss Amelia's a real lady an' we wanna give 'er the impression we're real gentlemen."

The cabbie turned into a cul-de-sac and halted at a double wrought iron-gate set in a high whitewashed brick wall enclosing a two-story mansion of matching construction. Hopping down from his seat, the driver pulled on a rope attached to a cable extending to the house. Presently a liveried manservant scurried out and loped toward the gate.

"May I hep you?"

Cap'n Booger stood up where he could be seen. "Captain Bruce Baldwin and friend to see Miss Pettus by invitation."

The servant bowed in recognition. "Yassuh, Cap'n. She waitin' on y'all." He unlocked and opened the gates, allowing the cab to pass through and down a short graveled drive to a circle surrounding a multi-tiered fountain. Dismissing the cabbie, Cap'n Booger and Jess waited for the servant to catch up to them to escort them up the staircase. Jess took the time to look around at the luxuriant landscaping... magnificent magnolias and royal palms, flowering shrubs of every description and masses of flowers in winding beds contained in whitewashed brick borders. More fountains, birdbaths and flagstone walkways filled the grounds. Potted plants and wicker furniture graced wide wrap-around verandahs on both levels.

 _Whose house is this an' what're we doin' here?_

" **If you gennemuns'd follow me..."** The servant preceded them along a wide hall that led directly to the back of the house. Glass doors stood open to a section of verandah partitioned off by latticework laced with honeysuckle and Lady Banks roses. At one of three cushioned wicker armchairs arranged around a glass-topped table sat a diminutive woman well over a 'certain age,' who smiled as Cap'n Booger came around to bow over her offered hand.

"Bruce... how wonderful to see you! Hale and hearty as always."

"Amelia... my ageless beauty."

The captain straightened and nodded at Jess. "Jess... I present to you Miss Amelia Pettus, doyenne of Boggy's top crust."

 _Is he serious? Sounds kinda sarcastic to me..._

Caught off guard with hat in hand, Jess gave a stiff bow and made a concentrated effort on correct pronunciation.

"M'am... Miss Pettus... very pleased to meet you."

"Amelia... this is my friend Jess Harper... the one I wrote about in my note yesterday."

"Welcome to my humble abode, Mister Harper... or may I call you Jess? As you can see, we're quite informal here."

"You sure can," Jess blurted, then caught himself. "I mean, I'd be honored, m'am."

"Please have a seat... both of you. Otis, would you be so kind as to serve refreshments?"

"Yessum." Otis turned to a drinks cart nearby to retrieve three heavy crystal tumblers and a cut crystal decanter filled with a golden liquid. Filling the glasses with a generous hand, he withdrew to a discreet distance.

Miss Amelia languidly lifted her tumbler in a toast. "To old friends and new..."

Jess cautiously sipped while the other two tossed back what was perhaps the finest bourbon he'd ever thrown a lip over. Smooth as silk, glowing as it slid down his gullet. On his second go he caught up with them. Otis had their glasses replenished in the blink of an eye.

"Would you prefer luncheon sooner rather later?" the lady inquired with a twinkling eye. "This vintage is best appreciated with a full meal."

"Sooner the better, Amelia," the captain stated flatly. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

"Otis, please inform Cook we're ready."

"Yessum. I be raht back."

 **The lady and the captain** spent a few more minutes in an exchange of pleasantries, during which time Jess had the opportunity to look over his hostess without seeming too obvious. Miss Amelia wore a simple gown of pale pink lavender muslin with delicate traceries in a floral motif worked in silver and lavender purple threads—colors that accentuated her silver hair and complemented her pale violet eyes. For a woman of her years she had remarkably few lines yet didn't seem to be powdered and rouged the way some older ladies did trying to disguise their ages.

 _Bet she was a knockout in her day. Wonder how old she is?_

When the first luncheon course was presented, Jess blinked. He'd never eaten uncooked green stuff in his life and wasn't sure what it was... or what he was supposed to do with it. Tomatoes he knew, and spring onions. Other items he recognized in their natural state—the way Daisy bought them at the farmers' market or grew them in their little kitchen garden. However, that's not the way they appeared on the table at home. Surreptitiously following the captain's lead, he dribbled some vinegary green sauce over the dish and took a mouthful. Alien—but delicious.

There was some kind of fruit that resembled a pear with leathery brownish-green skin and yellowy-green innards, sliced into halves with a depression in the middle where a pit or nut must have been. Bruce and Miss Amelia squeezed fresh lemon slices on theirs and dug out the creamy interior with little silver spoons. It, too, was very tasty.

Next came tiny buttered potatoes the size of quail eggs and miniature whole baked chickens no bigger than his fist. Jess was thankful that it appeared to be proper to eat the latter with his fingers. Last came dessert... an icy, creamy fruit concoction that gave him brain freeze.

 **No sooner had Otis cleared away** the last dish than Miss Amelia got straight to the heart of the meeting.

"So... you want to know about Carlton Harper… whom we know as Carp?"

Jess was so startled he nearly upset his newly poured drink. Captain Baldwin intervened.

"Amelia... I haven't got around to explaining to the lad yet... if you don't mind?"

"Please... do go ahead."

Jess idly noted that the captain was perfectly capable of abandoning his rough-hewn, unschooled veneer when it suited him.

"Amelia is a historian and authoress of some renown in certain circles. She writes scholarly articles for such prestigious publications as _Harper's_ , _Scientific American_ , _Atlantic Monthly_ and _Royal Geographical Society._ Her field of expertise is regional folklore. She's traveled extensively all over the world in pursuit of legends. However, since she's more or less retired these days, she's focused on folk tales here in Florida... and our local legends... such as Carp."

"Carp's a _legend?_ " Jess was astounded. "You... you know my _brother?_ "

"Indeed I do... and may I say, the resemblance is uncanny! Were it not for the age difference you could have been twins."

 _How does she know so much about us?_

Jess wasn't sure why he was so pleased to hear that. Maybe because it confirmed what he wanted to believe... that this Carp really was his brother?

"Take it away, Amelia." Cap'n Booger lounged back in his chair to accept from Otis a fine Havana cigar and silver cutter. With a nod of permission from the lady, Otis lit the captain's cigar.

"Close yer mouth, son. Yer lettin' in the flies," the captain joshed.

" **Carlton turned up here** looking for work in... oh, I believe it was about 1849? He was around seventeen then—as scrawny and sorry a specimen as I'd ever seen. I prevailed upon Mister Pettus to give him a job in the stables and, further, to allow me to teach the boy to read and write… along with the children of our servants—which was against the law, of course, but my brother adored me and gave me great latitude in management of the household staff."

 _If it was against the law, then these 'servants' musta been slaves..._

"Carlton was extremely bright and a quick study. Marvelous with horses. In four years he advanced to stable manager. Allen—my brother—put him in charge of training our racehorses. He was paid bonuses commensurate with their success at the track and by 1855 he'd put by enough to make a down payment on the property where he intended to establish a farm. Over the years he'd confided to me the particulars of his... your... dreadful upbringing, which served to confirm my belief that with proper education anyone can rise above his antecedents to become anything he wishes."

 _For heaven's sake, lady... can you talk in words I can unnerstand?_

"Did he ever say anything about Jonathan... our other brother what left at the same time?"

"He did mention that Jon intended to go out west, to the gold fields, but that he—Carlton—wasn't interested. They went their separate ways and lost contact. Carlton wasn't ambitious, in the sense he wasn't seeking riches. His ultimate goal was a farm and family of his own and he'd heard good reports of opportunities here in Florida.

"In 1859, he married the daughter of a family friend, resigned his position and took his bride to their new home on Turkey Creek. I can't say I approved of his choice—Minnie Ragsdale was a sweet, biddable girl but such a ninny! However, with our blessing the ceremony was performed right here in this house and we hosted a reception for them. None of us could have anticipated what lay down the road in two years' time."

 _Yeah... but how'd Carlton turn into Carp?_

"We were proud of Carlton's decision to do his duty and distressed beyond measure when it appeared he'd been lost in the fighting. I suppose we could have done better by Minnie but, frankly, we were too embroiled in our own problems at the time."

 _Yeah... I'll just bet you were... poor rich folks._

"I had been a committed abolitionist from the time I was able to speak my own mind."

 _From the cradle, I bet..._

"If I'd had my way, I would've emancipated our people long before Mister Lincoln got around to it, but Allen would have none of it. Many's the time we quarreled bitterly over the issue. Our fortunes depended on rice and sugar cane, he said. And while I'm loathe to admit it, he was right. All of this... everything you see around you, was built on the backs of our slaves."

 _... an' don't forget us poor white folk..._

"After Carlton went away to war I never saw him again. Like everyone else, I assumed he had perished. Allen, too, passed away and I had my hands full running the estate. When the news came that Carlton had survived—though imprisoned—and had been released, we waited for him to come home. He never did, that we know of... until that terrible event occurred. I wrote to the commandant at Fort Pickens inquiring as to Carlton's condition and state of mind at the time of his release. I have here the letter I received in response, if you'd care to read it."

 _Hell yeah I wanna read it!_

" _ **Dear Miss Pettus,**_ _Regarding your recent inquiry concerning Captain Carlton J. Harper, I'm afraid the news is not serendipitous. Though we met in person on several occasions during his time here, I did not know him well. Upon review of the medical records kept by our attendant physician, Doctor Charles Ainsworth, it appears Captain Harper was in extremely poor physical condition at the time of his release, having not made a complete recovery from wounds sustained during the Battle of Mobile Bay. Furthermore, his psychological stability had significantly deteriorated._

 _The doctor was of the opinion Captain Harper should be remanded to a facility suitable for treatment of disturbances of the mind, along with others who obviously would encounter much difficulty in returning to civilian life. Unfortunately, we were unable to comply with that suggestion. Quite simply, there are no such facilities available in this area at this time, nor have we been provided with the funding necessary to transport mentally- or physically-impaired patients to other states where appropriate treatment might be obtained._

 _Captain Harper was provided with a horse, civilian clothing and a monetary allotment deemed sufficient to return him to his home. Beyond that, we have no idea what has become of him. I personally disagree with the federal government's view that we have no further responsibility toward veterans, disabled or otherwise, of our former adversary. However, I have no authority in such matters._

 _Very truly yours, Colonel Joseph W. Hunnicutt, Commandant, Fort Pickens Military Prison."_

" **I'm so sorry, Jess,"** Miss Amelia said quietly. "If there's any good in this, it's the possibility that he _may_ still be alive. That is what I choose to believe. But you must accept that he's no longer the brother you remember... or the man I knew."

"I understand," Jess replied, devastated.

"In the seven years since, I've been collecting data on those people who have retreated from civilization and are now living in the swamplands and other inaccessible areas... and the local legends that have grown up around them. One such is the man known as 'Carp', who I believe is... or was... Carlton Harper.

"Shortly after his disappearance, a local widow by the name of Olivia Bentfield also went missing. The Bentfields and the Harpers were very close friends. There was public speculation that she might have run away with him. I am inclined to believe that this scenario is correct as Carlton and Olivia had often spoken admiringly of each other and had now found themselves unencumbered by mates.

"I have already arranged for transcription of all information pertinent to him, so that you will have a written account to accompany you as you continue your search. You _are_ planning to continue, are you not?"

Jess gave Cap'n Booger a long beseeching look.

The captain nodded. "Yes, Amelia. We're goin' on with it," he said, adding, "Any knowledge of what became of the child?"

"None whatsoever. It's assumed he took her with him, if indeed he were there at all. If still alive, she would be thirteen now."


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15:_ **THE RIVER**

 **Friday, November 21st...** Back on Boggy Bayou... sailing south straight down the main channel rather than trying to adhere to the crooked shoreline. Buoyed by renewed determination to finish what he'd started—one way or another—Jess was slowly overcoming his anxiety about being too far from land. Attermore Cove marked the farthest outskirts of Boggy... after that nothing but a fringe of marsh decorating a dense forest of live oaks and pines. At the entrance to Shirk Bayou, _Jolie Rouge_ took a straight heading directly across relatively open water to Shirk Point and then to White Point, bypassing the entrance to Rocky Bayou.

Jess'd taken to roosting in the wheelhouse whenever he wasn't eating or sleeping. Noting that his stress was best managed by keeping him informed as to their location at any given moment, Cap'n Booger made a point of vocally correlating landmarks to charts as they churned along. He kept to hand the composite map of the entire bay, so he could identify for Jess' benefit where they were in relation to where they were headed. Their objective was an enormous watershed estimated to encompass some five thousand plus square miles.

"That's a helluva lot a swamp, me boy!" the captain commented, rather unnecessarily. "Findin' one man in there is shapin' up to be a Herculean task."

"A what?"

"A big job that's gonna take awhile."

"Sooner we get there, sooner we get started," Jess retorted, grimly studying the veritable tapestry of rivers and tributaries forming the estuary of a primeval, watery forest at the far eastern corner of the bay.

"Now we _could_ continue following the shore... or..." The captain's finger slid across the oiled surface of the chart. "We could cut across from here, Stake Point, an' not bother with Alaqau an' LaGrange bayous... right into Jolly Bay at the north edge a the swamp. There's an established settlement there, Freeport... with a good dock at Four Mile Creek."

"Why stop there?"

Cap'n Booger shook his head. "Resupply. We can only go as far as what we got onboard, before havin' to come out again. We'll tie up there overnight then head in first thing in the morning. An' we'll be needin' a couple a canoes."

 **Saturday, November 22nd...** Examining that chart as if expecting it to yield directions to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Jess was disconcerted when Cap'n Booger calmly rolled it up and returned it to the rack. "Won't be needin' this 'un for a spell." Extracting another one, he unrolled it on the chart table and distributed the felt-backed brass weights that kept it flat.

"Two other rivers besides the Choctawhatchee flow into the bay. This here's a corps of engineers chart for the first twenty-mile section a the Mitchell River."

"Thought we were goin' up the Choca... dadgum that's a mouthful."

"The Choctawhatchee runs for a hunnert an' forty miles right up inta Alabama, to Newton... an' she's navigable all the way so there's a sizeable amount a traffic... includin' government. Them swamp folks ain't goin' anywheres near it. We're gonna do Mitchell first, then the Indian River if we got to."

Jess commented, uncomfortably, that the water seemed choppier than what they'd been experiencing so far. Cap'n Booger explained that, although there wasn't much tide differential in the bay itself, they were fighting the current produced by the influx of water from those three rivers... and would continue to do so as they worked their way upstream.

"It'll ease up some the farther away we move from the bay."

 **Executing a wide sweep** around a cluster of small sandy islands fringed with marsh and topped with scrub pines, the captain guided his vessel to an opening Jess identified on the chart as the mouth of the Mitchell River. At a wooden sign atop a creosoted piling displaying the number '0'—designating the starting point of the river—Cap'n Booger cut the engines to dead slow. The watercourse became more defined as marsh gave way to expanses of solid ground on which grew live oaks. The captain pointed out the occasional beech, magnolia, holly, basswood and maple. At intervals sandy fingers jutted out into the channel. Jess marveled at how adroitly Cap'n Booger managed to steer around them without crashing into the opposite bank—at times they were close enough to gently scrape against overhanging vegetation. Jess was positive that any moment they were going to run aground... but they didn't.

They passed landmarks noted on the chart as Black Creek Cutoff and Nancy's Cutoff, after which the terrain began yielding to hummocks with decidedly more tropical foliage such as palmettos and taller palms. The river narrowed and began making great tortuous loops through what had undeniably become swamp—amber-colored water stretched on both sides of the channel. The canopies of knobby-kneed cypress trees intersected overhead, shutting out all but a few rays of sunlight. No breeze penetrated the watery tunnel to disturb the immense draperies of moss and masses of creeping vines.

At Rushing Cutoff, the captain cut the engines, allowing the _Jolie Rouge_ to drift up against the north bank with her bow adjacent to a sand spit. Agile and sure-footed as frogs, deckhands leaped out and shortly had the boat secured with lines to the nearest cypress.

"Why are we stoppin'? It ain't even noon!" Jess complained, slapping at mosquitoes.

"Now we wait." Which explained nothing.

Cap'n Booger leisurely filled, tamped and lit his meerschaum. "Patience, me boy. They know we're here. They're givin' us the once-over to decide if it's safe to come outta hidin'."

The hairs on the back of Jess' neck stood to attention. More than hating the _feeling_ he was being watched was _knowing_ that he was. Every instinct was screaming to get himself under cover... to hide until he could ascertain where the watchers were lurking. And there was Cap'n Booger, totally unconcerned and wreathed in layers of rank tobacco smoke, regarding him tranquilly.

The captain spoke quietly. "If I might make a suggestion or two...?"

"About what?"

"You might wanna change into somethin' a bit less... conspicuous? More in keepin' with what my crew... an' the locals... wear?"

"What's wrong with what I got on?" Jess grumbled. "I don't have any other clothes." Unlike Jay Dee, Jess had continued dressing himself in his usual and customary attire... denims and pale blue cotton chambray shirt—tucked in. Basically his only deviation were those dadblamed comfortable canvas shoes, having found out the hard way that high-heeled cowboy boots were incompatible with slippery boat decks and ladders.

"No problem. Alcide keeps a cupboard with extry duds fer emergencies. Go below an' tell 'im I said you need to look like a deckhand. Oh... an' I see you didn't shave this morning... good! Let 'er grow. An' yer hair's too tidy. You wanna look a little on the grubby an' shady side."

"I ain't plannin' on goin' native like Jay Dee."

"Son, ya got 'outsider' writ all over ya. Do like I say if ya want these folks to open up to ya. Savvy?"

"Savvy," Jess grunted unhappily.

 **Alcide was filleting one** of four largemouth bass on his prep table as Jess made his request. "Gimme five minute, feex you good." The razor sharp filet knife flashed and eight perfect filets were immersed in a pan of cold water. Offal went into a bucket on the floor. Jess reached for it.

"I'll dump this overboard for you."

The little man waved him off, shrieking. "Non! Non! You crazy? Make gator come! Boys need for pig bait tonight."

"Pig bait? Pigs eat _fish?_ "

"Dem piggy... dey eats anytin!" Alcide rinsed his hands in another bucket of water and dried them on a grimy gray hand towel. "Come wit me."

In the adjacent cubicle that served as the cook/steward's private quarters, he dragged a battered trunk from under the bed and began pulling out items of clothing that at first glance appeared to be little more than rags. When he'd accumulated what he felt was an adequate selection, he arose stiffly. One by one he held up each piece for Jess' perusal, twittering and fussing as he were a Saville Row tailor about to outfit a London gentleman. All were of an indeterminate drab grayish-brownish color with rips and/or crude patched repairs. All were wrinkled and stained—mostly with oil but some might've been blood. None were clean and all smelled of cooking grease with a delicate overlay of fish.

Jess was glad there wasn't a full-length mirror onboard, trying to put aside the knowledge of pre-worn, unwashed cloth next to his skin. Heat and humidity had forced him to relinquish his ubiquitous longjohns weeks ago. When he reported back topside, Cap'n Booger nodded his approval at the raggedy khaki trousers, chopped off below the knee and a collarless, sleeveless undervest of woven cotton. Alcide had added a finishing touch to Jess' chin and jaws with a dainty smudging of lampblack, thereby turning his noon stubble into a full-blown five o'clock shadow.

"Maybe at night they won't notice yer fishbelly white legs," the captain commented.

Jess had to admit, grudgingly, that all this unfamiliar exposed flesh felt a lot cooler. Unfortunately, it also afforded extra unprotected territory for the voracious mosquitoes to feed on. Observing the renewed frenzy of slapping and dancing, Cap'n Booger took pity on the man, handing him an open tin.

"Rub some a this on everythin' ya can reach an' them skeeters'll hightail it."

Taking a tentative sniff, Jess reeled backwards, gagging at a fragrance only a mother polecat could love. Earlier, he'd been thinking the captain sure could use a bath but was too polite to remark on it.

"I ain't puttin' none a this on me. It'd make a buzzard fall outta the sky."

"That's the general idea. But suit yourself."

Jess lasted fifteen more minutes before he accepted defeat and started smearing it on. To his amazement, it worked.

"What's in this stuff?"

"You really wanna know?"

The unguent turned out to be a blend of pulverized goldenseal root, oils of juniper and citronella, and pine pitch with a grain alcohol base—all of which smelled quite pleasant until the addition of the binding agent: rancid alligator fat. Jess wished he hadn't asked.

"By now all the lads... includin' your young cousin... has anointed theirselves. Everyone stinks just as bad. You won't even notice after a bit."

"What about... visitors... if we get any?"

"Worse. Don't worry about it. How 'bout a game a checkers? Alcide'll be bringing us up some lunch pretty soon."

"Sure."

 **The afternoon rolled on uninterrupted.** With no passengers onboard, the crew—reduced to ten individuals other than Alcide—washed down decks and performed other minor daily maintenance until dusk. Jess and the captain went below to join the others for supper in the saloon—fried fish with collard greens and cornbread. Using trotlines baited with dough balls, Alcide had hauled in a nice mess of catfish to supplement the bass. Conversation at table was uncommonly reserved, as if everyone sensed unseen eyes on the boat and its inhabitants.

Plans were afoot for an evening pig hunt. Evidently two of the men had sloped off sometime during the afternoon and located a game trail. When Cap'n Booger sternly advised that no guns were to be discharged, Jess hooted.

"What they gonna use? Bows and arrows?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But not the kind you're probably thinking of... like your Western Indians use. These boys use crossbows. You ever seen one?"

"No... I ain't."

"Remy... go and get one to show Jess here."

Remy left the table and returned with the oddest contraption Jess'd ever seen, along with a handful of short steel-tipped arrows.

"Take it outside an' show him how it works. Be mindful to aim away from the trees. Don't wanna accidently shoot any a the spies."

As it was now getting on full dark, Jess highly doubted they be receiving visitors _this_ evening. Fascinated with the crossbow, he would've liked to have played with it a little longer but the hunting expedition was getting underway and Remy was their best arbalist. Two of them carried lanterns and one the bait bucket of reeking fish guts. Two of the men carried spears instead of crossbows and one of those was Jay Dee.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jess stepped in front of him.

"Pig-huntin'. What's it look like?"

"When've you ever hunted pigs?"

"Never. But I'm fixing to learn."

"No you ain't. Listen... I _have_ hunted wild hogs... when I was a kid in Texas. From a distance, with a rifle... an' on horseback. They're dangerous animals. You could get hurt real bad."

"I'll be careful."

"I ain't lettin' ya go."

"I'm not asking permission, Jess."

Right that moment, standing toe to toe with Jay Dee, Jess experienced an epiphany of sorts—he wasn't going to be able to make this young man do anything he didn't want to do... nor was he going to be able to prevent him from doing what he wanted. Not by brute force, anyway. It wasn't like holding a gun on someone and giving orders.

The youngster had changed a lot in just a few short weeks. Working in the hot sun without headgear had bleached his hair and beard to wheat-straw blondness—how come Jess only now noticed that the kid had quit shaving? The hard physical labor involved in crewing a boat had rendered away the last remnants of puppy fat—Jay Dee was as wiry lean as Jess himself had been at that age and to some extent still was, with sharply delineated muscles under a darkly tanned pelt. And... he'd shot up another inch, which put him at slightly above eye level with Jess. Although he spoke civilly enough in that rich baritone voice so much like Jess' own, there was no longer any trace of the reticence or deference he'd displayed at the cow camp.

Jess sighed and stepped back, acknowledging he had no authority here. "Even if I ask nice— _please_ don't... for your parents' sake?"

 _Dear Lord... is this what it's like, bein' a parent? What if he was MY kid... or worse... a GIRL? No wonder Pa took to drinkin' an' Ma just plumb give up on livin'. I ain't NEVER havin' no young 'uns…_

Jay Dee grinned. "I promise I won't be leading the charge. Already gave my word to Remy that I'll stand back until he gives the word the pig's disabled enough for me to try my hand with the spear. Gotta go... they're waitin' on me."

 **Cap'n Booger had called for two volunteers** to stay with the boat. He'd asked Jess, politely but firmly, to surrender his and Jay Dee's gunbelts to the locker where all the other weapons were stowed. Not surprisingly, Jess had vehemently resisted.

"What if...?"

"No what ifs. What you got to understand, Jess... these folks're cautious. They have to be. Most of 'em's wanted for one reason or another. When they come, they're first gonna search the boat to be sure there ain't no militia or bounty hunters on 'er."

"You'll let 'em... just like that?"

"Dern tootin'. Don't forget... nobody knows where we are outside a Miss Pettus. If they get too nervous, we could easily get ourselves disappeared... just like that."

"They can't hide a boat big as this 'un."

"They'd take 'er back out to the bay under cover of night an' scuttle 'er. No one'd ever know. You keep yer trap shut an' let me do the talkin'."

"But if they got guns an' we don't..."

The captain rolled his eyes with impatience. "They don't. Guns an' ammo cost money an' they don't have any. Gunfire attracts attention an' gives away their positions. Believe you me... these people don't _need_ guns to survive... they get by just fine with what they got."

"I take your point," Jess said, still believing they were on a wild goose chase. "Whadda we do now?"

"Wait some more. Right here."

The captain sent Etienne and Georges to the cargo hold to bring out a pair of folding chairs, then above to light a couple of lanterns on the upper decks. A row of hanging lanterns completely illuminated the maindeck at the prow of the boat, drawing in flights of moths and bats. Cap'n Booger and Jess each made themselves comfortable in a chair. The other two sat cross-legged on the deck off to one side, along with Alcide who'd come below with a wicker basket covered with a checked cloth. The captain stoked his pipe and the three crewmen lit cigars. Jess abstained. No one spoke.

The night was far from silent—croaking frogs, whirring and chirping insects, the mellow hoots of barred owls, the occasional splash of some aquatic creature breaking the surface of the placid black water or slithering off the bank into it. The overall effect was so hypnotic that Jess was startled when, without forewarning, two pirogues quietly glided up to the sandy spit.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16:_ **THE SWAMP DWELLERS**

 **Four barefoot men** disembarked to beach their pirogues. Three remained standing while the fourth stalked across the gangway. Well over six feet tall, he had a tangled shoulder-length gray-streaked mane, a thicket of eyebrows over a scarred face, and an unkempt beard that reached to his sternum. He and his three only slightly less intimidating compadres were clad in ragged cutoffs and sleeveless shirts that bared massive arms roped with sinew. Apparently this was standard apparel for watermen... along with hunting knives depending from rough leather belts.

Whoever the leader was, he wasn't Tony. This man had to be upwards of fifty.

Cap'n Booger and his two crewmen rose to their feet so Jess did likewise. Hooded eyes took in the five men one by one, resting briefly on Jess before returning to the captain with a nod of recognition.

"Booger."

"Painter."

"These sorry specimens all ya got?"

"For the moment," the captain replied evenly. "The rest're huntin' pigs out on the bayou. Your men're welcome to have a look around."

The wild man gestured to his friends without turning his head. Wordlessly they came aboard and ascended the ladder.

"Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait." Cap'n Booger indicated the two chairs. Understanding he was expected to give up his seat, Jess made to move off to the side until he was intercepted by an iron grip on his upper arm.

"Don't I know you?" the giant was asking.

"No sir. We ain't never met."

 _An' I'm wishin' we wasn't meetin' now..._

"Hmnnn..." The man turned loose and settled his bulk in the chair next to the captain. Jess went to stand between Etienne and Georges, trying to keep his face from betraying his anxiety. Without being signaled, Alcide squatted on the deck to remove a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the basket.

Painter smacked his lips appreciatively after the first sip. The cook/steward then offered a cedarwood box containing a selection of cigars. The big man made a choice, biting off the tip and leaning forward to the lit match Alcide was holding out.

"As you were, boys," the captain said. Etienne, Georges and Alcide promptly reestablished themselves on the deck. Jess followed suit. Moments later Painter's men descended to report all was clear on the upper decks before going to investigate the cargo hold.

"All clear, Painter," one of them announced as they came back out and assumed parade rest on the opposite side from where Jess and the crew were sitting.

The wild man gave a low whistle that summoned two more pirogues that had been lurking just beyond lamplight range. Those, however, didn't approach the _Jolie Rouge_ but drifted against the bank on the other side of the spit where they held position. A show of force, Jess reckoned.

" **Whatcha got for us, Booger?"** The man called Painter inquired in a deep rumbling voice that appeared to be emanating from the depths of his bowels.

"The usual—booze an' tobacco, salt an' pepper, sugar, flour, bolts of cloth... pretty much anything you need."

"You're here too early. Trappin' season's just gettin' started good. Doubt we got enough pelts to do much tradin'."

"I'll take whatever ya got, a'course... but tain't necessarily only furs an' hides I'm after."

A mask seemed to settle over Painter's face followed by a long pause.

 _Too soon, Booger... way too soon!_ Jess' nerves were jangling.

"That so?"

"We need yer help findin' someone... if that someone's still around to be found."

"Booger... you know the rules. No rattin' on anyone for any reason." The big man shook his head, standing up abruptly. "You'd best collect yer crew an' be on yer way afore I ferget we's friends."

"Now wait a minute... hear me out. This ain't a givmint matter... it's personal. Please… sit back down. I'm askin'... as a friend."

Painter lowered himself back into the chair. "Make it fast, Bruce... and make it good." His mushmouth speech as well as his exaggerated accent disappeared, replaced with one more in keeping with upper class Virginia.

"Jess... come over here if you would," the captain called.

Jess got up off the deck and came around to stand before the two seated men. Painter carefully looked him up and down, unblinking obsidian eyes cold as a snake's.

"Who's this man?"

"His name's Jess Harper an' he's fixin' to explain hisself after I intraduce ya proper. Jess... this here's Painter Billy, head a the Rushin' Branch tribe. They call him that on account he once killed a painter with 'is bare hands. Broke 'is neck."

 _Artist painter? House painter? What'd he do... use the wrong color?_

"Tell Painter why you're here."

 _Get ahold a yourself. He's just a man what puts his britches on like anyone else... one leg at a time..._

"I'm tryin' to find my brother, Captain Carlton J. Harper, 1st Florida Infantry..."

"Eight years afterwards and you're just now getting around to looking for him?" the man interrupted. "Why now?"

"He disappeared when I was still a pup. I only just found out recently about him bein' in the war... an' that he's still alive... _might_ be alive," Jess amended.

"Who told you that?"

Jess cut his eyes at Cap'n Booger, who indicated with the merest tilt of his head that it was okay to tell.

"Miss Amelia Pettus. She knew 'im before the war, but ain't seen him since."

"Did she now?"

"She's pretty sure the man everybody calls 'Carp' is my brother Tony... an' that he's probably been hiding out here for the past seven years."

The big man didn't react to the name. "You fought in the war?"

"Yes, sir. I did."

"Which side?"

Cap'n Booger cleared his throat in warning, sensing Jess' growing irritation.

 _Respect for an elder's one thing, but I sure don't care for this swamp rat's high-handed attitude..._

Jess strove to keep his voice low and steady. "Like you said, mister... war's been over a long time. Reckon it don't matter anymore what side anyone fought on."

 **The bushy eyebrows knotted** and the man blinked. Once. A grimace that might have been the beginning of a grin twitched one side of his mouth and was just as quickly gone.

"That's where you're wrong, boy. For some folks it'll _never_ be over."

"Meanin' what?" Jess challenged. Cap'n Booger's face was contorting as if he were about to hoick up a massive hairball.

"Meaning just that. So... you want information. What do I get in return?"

"Nothin'. Maybe just the satisfaction a doin' a good deed an' helpin' two brothers find each other. I ain't got nothin' to my name 'cept a horse an' saddle back in Wyomin'."

 _Why's he keep starin' at me like I done growed a extra head?_

Jess resolutely stood his ground, feeling the red creeping up the back of his neck. "Look... Mister Painter or Billy or whatever the hell your name is... don't jerk me around. I come a long way an' this is real important to me. If you can't help or just plain don't wanna, just say so. We'll look somewhere else an' leave y'all in peace."

The look on Painter's face was one of incredulity mixed with amusement. In an aside to the captain, though quite audible to Jess, he said, "Boy's mouthy but he's got sand. I'll give him that. Bruce, have one of your boys bring out another chair... and then they can go on about their business. My men'll keep watch."

Jess stood there fuming while Georges acceded to the wild man's request—which was really more of an order—then he, Etienne and Alcide wasted no time making themselves scarce. Painter's henchmen retreated out of earshot.

"Sit yourself down, Jess Harper. Have some of the captain's fine brandy. I believe there's another glass in that basket."

Getting another nod of agreement from Cap'n Booger, Jess did as told. Slugging back a shot of brandy, he understood they'd reached some critical juncture and it was time to put aggression aside.

"Maybe you'd better tell me some more about yourself... and your brother."

"That's likely to take awhile."

"I've got nothing but time."

 **So Jess told him...** about his sordid childhood, the arson fire that had taken the lives of his parents and siblings, his military service and prisoner-of-war experience, his introduction into the gunfighter's life, his years on the drift... and his inadvertent 'adoption' into the Sherman family. He made no mention of the possible inheritance, only that—because he'd met someone who believed they were related and looked into it—he'd acquired information leading him to believe he might _not_ be the only survivor of his immediate family.

"An' here I am," Jess concluded. "Maybe this's all been for nothin'... but I had to try. You can see that, can't ya?"

Painter stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Tell you what. I'll put out the word starting tomorrow. It'll take a day or two and I can't promise it'll produce the results you're looking for."

"Thank you. Can't ask for better than that." And Jess really meant it.

Painter stood up. "We're heading back to camp, Booger. We'll be back sometime tomorrow morning with our women, if that suits."

"Suits fine," the captain replied. "I laid in some pretties for the young 'uns, too."

"I told you... we don't..."

"On me, Billy... for the children."

The swamp king and his entourage reboarded their pirogues and departed as silently as they'd arrived.

Suddenly Jess felt terribly tired, drained. Must've looked it, too, because Cap'n Booger suggested he head for bed.

"Can't... Jay Dee's still out there somewhere..."

"Don't you worry about him. These hunts sometimes last all night. Them pigs're elusive bastards... not that easy to catch. An' I've no doubt some a Painter's men are watchin' over 'em right now... our boys, not the pigs. Go to bed, Jess... afore you fall down. I do b'lieve ole Painter's took a shine to you."

In his stateroom, Jess stripped off his gamey clothing and pulled the mosquito netting around his bunk. Up until now he'd disregarded it but tonight it seemed a good idea as he intended to sleep in the buff—too warm and humid for a blanket or even a sheet. Though his mind was reeling ninety to nothing, he was out in minutes.

 **Sunday, November 23rd...** Waking up, Jess was at first disoriented at finding himself shrouded in unfamiliar white gauze. _Where?... What?... oh yeah... skeeter nettin'._ Yanking it aside, he lay there for awhile, willing his heart rate to recede from a hard gallop to a trot... no idea what time it was but certainly later than he normally slept—filtered daylight eked past the edges of the window blinds. Other senses started checking in on cue: cooking smells seeping around the closed door to the passageway; arising from belowdecks, voices undeniably belonging to women and children; almost imperceptible movement as _Jolie Rouge_ shuddered gently in the river current; an unpleasant sensation of clamminess and a disagreeable odor wafting off his own body.

There came a tapping at the passageway door accompanied by Alcide's voice.

" _Puis-je entrer?"_ Without waiting for an answer, the steward lugged in a bucket of hot water that he set on the floor. Seeing that Jess was awake, he grinned and proclaimed that breakfast would still be available after 'Monsieur Jess' had washed and dressed. Then he backed out obsequiously, leaving Jess mystified as to the reason for such formality after weeks of being on a first-name basis with the man.

A full-immersion bath would have been preferable, but Jess made do with hot, soapy water in the washstand basin, even managing to remove the itchiness from his scalp. Mostly—but not entirely—scum-free, he loathed having to don the skunky abbreviated shirt and pants. Although his facial hair was entering that annoying prickly stage of growth, he decided to follow Cap'n Booger's advice and let it be. Slipping on the canvas plimsolls, he was ready to face whatever the day had in store.

 **Entering the saloon,** he found the members of the hunting party, including his errant cousin, and a few unknown faces obviously members of Painter's 'tribe.' Jay Dee scooted over to make room for him. A clean plate and cutlery magically appeared in front of him and bowls of grub slid within reach. Jess dug in. Alcide scurried in with his coffee, milk and sugar.

With his initial hunger satisfied, Jess' attention migrated to his surroundings—specifically, the other men sharing the table, whose conversation had dwindled upon his arrival. Why was he feeling so conspicuous... after all that botheration to dress and look just like one of them? He turned to Jay Dee, who was industriously constructing a sandwich out of a hunk of ham, a slab of wheel cheese and a fried egg on a cathead biscuit.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'." Jay Dee attempted biting into the side of his creation, which immediately fell apart.

"Don't gimme that! Why're they actin' like they're afraid a me?"

Jay Dee picked up the cheese slice and nibbled at it. "The word's 'awe,' Jess... not 'afraid'."

"I don't understand."

"Painter's given you his blessing... like a papal dispensation—by extension to the rest of us on _Jolie._ He hardly ever does that for an outsider, which makes you a VIP—a Very Important Person. He's decreed that they're gonna help locate cousin Tony."

 **Jess almost dropped his fork** in a surge of excitement. "You mean he _knows_ him... knows for sure he's alive?"

"Didn't say that." The kid poked around on his plate, selecting a piece of meat and popping it in his mouth.

"Quite playing with your food and look at me! What've you heard? You weren't even here last night!"

"Dadgum, Jess... gimme a break! Been listening and asking questions all morning while you were sacked out. Look... there're other families out here, other clans or what they call tribes—not only whites but colored folks and Indians. Almost every one of their chiefs is a fugitive from justice. They remain isolated in small groups by choice, so that if one gets caught they won't endanger the others. They respect one another's territories and they all have secrets... but they do maintain a communications network—for all I know by jungle drums. Within twenty-four hours the entire fragmented community will know why you're here.

"Cap'n Booger's down below doing business with their women. Except for Georges and Etienne who're needed to do the fetching and carrying, he's asked that the rest of us keep to the upper decks until they're gone. The ladies're kinda shy around too many strange men and their menfolks'd rather we stayed away from them, too."

"I guess I can get that. Injuns are the same way."

 **Seeing he was only going to annoy** Jay Dee by pressing him on the subject, Jess changed it... at the same time finally noticing the boy's wretched state, not to mention the rest of the hunting party. Their clothes had been ripped and torn to indecency and they all sported numerous scrapes, cuts and bruises. They were also crusted with mud and blood and stank to high heaven. The 'tribal' members present must have assisted as they were in a similar state.

"Looks like the hunt was a success."

Jay Dee grinned. "Can't remember when I've had so much fun. We had to track 'em onto higher ground and run like hell. Never would've caught 'em if the Rushing men hadn't shown up with their dogs."

"Dogs? Don't you need dry land for dogs?"

"Oh... it's not all water like this. Back away from the river there's hummocks high and dry enough to build a house and plant a little garden, keep a cow or some goats and hunting dogs. You could paddle a boat or walk within a hundred yards and not even know it's there.

"Anyway... these dogs... they're called Catahoula curs... are specially trained to hunt razorbacks. Two of 'em get in front of it... just like a cutting horse... and 'bay' it. Then, while it's busy facing those two, two more rush up on either side and latch onto its ears, so that it can't turn around and try to gore 'em. That's when you spear 'im. We don't have feral pigs in California. Guess you don't have any in Wyoming, either."

"None that I heard of. The ones I grew up with in Texas we call javelinas."

"We're having a pig roast tonight and tomorrow. After the families leave, our guys'll start digging the pit."

Another thought occurred to Jess. "You happen to hear how Painter got 'is name? Why'd he wanna kill a painter, anyway?"

Jay Dee looked puzzled for a moment, then started laughing. " 'Painter' is a corruption of the word 'panther'... what you'd call a 'cougar' or 'mountain lion'. In California we call 'em 'puma'. They say he killed one with his bare hands and a knife."

 _Alligators was bad enough... they got cougars, too? What next? Elephants an' bears?_

"Uh... what about bears? They got bears around here, too?"

"Yeah... black bears."

 _That's it! I ain't settin' foot off this boat._

 **One by one the other diners** had drifted away—crewmen up the ladder and tribal members down below, presumably to rejoin their families. Jay Dee stood up yawning.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Afterdeck. Alcide rigged up a hose from the river to a cistern so we can have showers. Then sleep. We field dressed those piggies where they dropped so didn't get back until dawn. Since we're all banished anyway, we might as well take advantage of the break."

"Mind if I join you?"

"C'mon."

 **The shaded afterdeck** behind the wheelhouse had been turned into a micro resort community. Men were showering, splayed out on pallets or swinging in hammocks. Two were sitting cross-legged, playing checkers. A few were casting lines into the water far, far below. Every single one was in his birthday suit, including Alcide. The old man was skinning out the first of a row of piglets strung up by their hocks from nails pounded into the overhang of the wheelhouse.

"The sow's down on the main deck, wrapped up in a tarp. Too big to haul up here," Jay Dee advised. "She's going into the pit tonight for lunch tomorrow. The small ones'll be roasted on a spit over a fire on the beach. We got a big boar, too—too old and gamey to eat. The Rushing boys took the carcass downriver about a quarter mile and chained it to a tree to keep the alligators out of our hair."

Jess shuddered at being reminded of Florida's apex predators. Just because he hadn't seen one since they came upriver didn't mean they weren't there. Jay Dee casually shed his clothes and strolled over to the shower area. Jess looked around self-consciously before doing the same. Apparently they were far enough back from the edge of the upper deck that they couldn't be seen by anyone below. He hoped. Alcide assured him that the gangways to the second and third tiers were secured so that no females or children would be making their way upstairs.

 **Within the hour, everyone** besides Jess and Alcide was dozing. Jess offered to help skin the little beasties. Without comment Alcide handed him a second knife. Grinning like a mule eating briars, the old man pulled up a rope that had been depending from the side of the boat. Jess was happily surprised when up came a crab net with bottles that'd been cooling in the river. Uncorking one, Alcide handed it over before serving himself.

" _A vôtre santé !_ " he exclaimed as they clinked bottles. It was beer. Good beer... and cold. From below came the shrieking laughter of children having fun.

"What're them kids so happy about?" Jess inquired.

"Dey swimmin'."

Jess was horrified. "In _there?_ What about the alligators?"

"No worries 'bout gator. Dey got net out."

 _Net?_

Jess stealthily crept over just far enough to peer over the side. A log boom had been deployed in a semicircle about twenty feet out from the tip of the sand spit. Each terminus was secured by stakes around which were wired the ends of rusted metal mesh that'd been laced to the boom—leftover naval defenses that'd been used by both sides to prevent unauthorized entry into harbors by adversarial ships. In the predator-safe enclosure, two dozen naked children were cavorting in the water, overseen by several women in rags that might have been dresses in a former lifetime. The women were armed with rifles. Just in case. So they _did_ have guns, after all. He had no doubt these gun-totin' gals were dead shots.

 _I'll just be damned!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17:_ **PROGRESS**

 **By the time Jess and Alcide** finished their chore, the noise from below had abated and the boat grew silent again aside from the symphony of snores, grunts and whistles. Cap'n Booger ambled around the wheelhouse to advise the time of banishment was up. Alcide asked if he should wake up the others. The captain told him, no... let them sleep as long as they needed but that he, Alcide, should probably get started on lunch. It'd be a _late_ lunch, but then, they'd be having a late dinner.

Turning to leave, he beckoned to Jess. "Put yer duds on an' come below. Painter's waitin' to have a word. We'll be in the saloon."

 _What? Already?_

Hurriedly dressing, Jess tried to steady himself for whatever news was to come—good or bad. Bounding down the stairs, he nearly slipped and fell. His heart was thumping.

Painter was already seated at the head of the table, cigar fired up and glass filled from a ceramic jug. Seated to Painter's left with his own libation, Cap'n Booger gestured to Jess to take the chair opposite and poured one for him.

"It's a little early for me, Cap."

"Drink it anyway. You'll need it."

Trying to control his palsied hand, Jess tossed back the entire contents. His gullet was on fire and his eyeballs threatened to shoot out like miniature cannonballs. Whatever this was, it was far more potent than what they'd been imbibing the night before. Before the mist cleared his eyes and nose were both watering. He had to use the back of his hand to wipe both, lacking sleeves.

"Swamp poteen," Cap'n Booger explained simply.

Painter's face was a mask of inscrutability as he waited for Jess to return to some semblance of sensibility. Then he spoke.

" **He's alive."**

"Wha... uh... he is? You sure?" _Fer God's sake don't babble like a idiot!_ "Where is he? When can I go see 'im?"

"That's the good news. The bad news is, he don't want to see you."

Jess was stunned. "But... why?"

"He don't believe you are who you say you are. If you attempt to come near him, you _will_ be killed."

Jess' gut plummeted to his feet. "Did he tell you that himself?"

"No. This information comes third-hand, from a reliable source."

"I can't give up... not now. I just... can't!" Jess moaned, plunging his face in his hands.

"He claims all his kin died in the house fire you described. That you couldn't possibly be his brother."

"I told you what happened."

"My word don't count for shit with Carp," Painter said softly, almost kindly. "You got any proof? Something we could send him? A tintype maybe."

"No. Nothing. But if he'd just meet me... see me. He'd know..."

"Well, he won't."

"Can't you even tell me where to find him. I'll take the chance..."

Painter nodded negatively. "Could... but won't. I ain't takin' responsibility for you getting your head blown off or your throat cut."

" **Excuse me for interrupting,"** Cap'n Booger said. "But may I make a suggestion here?" Seeing that he had their attention, he continued. "That story you told Painter last night... do you think you could write it all down? Along with any other childhood memories that only the two of you would know about?"

"I 'spose I could. It'd take me all day... I don't write too fast."

"Excellent idea, Bruce," Painter said. "Jess... you should start on that right away. If you can get it done... or enough of it, anyway... by nightfall, I'll send someone out tonight."

"He won't know my handwritin'..."

"Not important. You got nothing to lose. It's the contents that'll either win him over... or not."

"Guess it won't hurt ta try."

"Good lad!" Cap'n Booger boomed, standing up. "I'll fetch some paper and writing implements from my quarters _toot sweet_ and bring them to your stateroom." With that, he stumped away, leaving Jess and Painter alone.

"Can I ask you somethin' before I go?" Jess had stood up as well.

"Fire away."

"You ever meet Tony... Carp... in person? You know what he looks like?"

"Yes. I have. It's been a few years since I've seen him, though."

"Do you believe my story? Do we even look alike... even though he's twelve years older'n me?"

From the odd expression now occupying the older man's face, Jess sensed he was about to hear something extraordinary. And he was right...

"Sit," Painter said, sighing.

Jess sat, expectantly.

"I wasn't going to tell you this but I'm experiencing what I believe is referred to as a crisis of conscience."

Jess waited until, unexpectedly, a paw was thrust in his direction. He shook it, thoroughly bumfuzzled.

"William Henry Bradshaw, Captain."

"Uh... pleased to meet you, Captain Bradshaw." _That was dumb._

" **Just Billy nowadays... or Painter.** Whichever you like."

"Okay."

"I served with your brother... I knew him as Carl then. We were demolitions experts... and good friends. We helped lay the mines that sunk the USS Tecumseh at the Battle of Mobile Bay. We were both wounded but I got away. He didn't. By the time I was fit to return to duty, he was already in the prison at Fort Pickens. Nine months later when the war ended, he was still there.

"There was no way I could go see him. My name was still on the wanted list and I had to go into hiding. I was already living here in the swamp when he was pardoned... and then there was that awful business with his wife. I found him and brought him here for safety... him and his little girl and Olivia. They stayed with us two months before establishing their own group elsewhere. He wasn't himself, Jess... wanted nothing to do with anyone who'd known him before. Believe me, I tried... but he acted like he'd never known me at all.

"We know now what we didn't know then... about the brain damage. He has these spells... he goes on acting perfectly normal for weeks... and then he goes haywire, sometimes only a day or two, sometimes for weeks. His people look after him when it happens and keep him from harming himself or anyone else. He might be fine today but tomorrow he might not be. You have to be prepared."

"That's exactly what Miss Pettus said, so I believe you. Do you believe me?"

"I knew the minute we met last night... although I didn't know what I knew until you told your story. And the answer is yes, you favor each other enough to claim kinship. I have to say, I don't see a positive outcome to your meeting. Not for either of you. He can't leave the swamp and neither can I... ever. There's still a price on both our heads. There's nothing you can do for him. But I now have a moral obligation to assist in any way I can... as long as it doesn't endanger either his tribe or mine. I hope you understand that."

"I do. I promise. I just want to _see_ him." Jess couldn't keep the pleading from his voice.

"Then go write your letter. I'll see that he gets it."

 **Wednesday, November 26th...** Two days had passed with no response to Jess' letter. The day before had been mostly taken up with a repeat of Monday... with the women and children coming in the morning while the banished crew fidgeted on the afterdeck. By noon they'd left and only their menfolk remained. The sow—which had been wrapped in wet palm leaves and left to bake over hot stones—had been disinterred from the firepit. They'd eaten their fill and the rest, donated to the Rushing tribe, was borne away by pirogue to their hidden camp. Meat from rotisseried piglets turned up in every conceivable form for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The remainder were smoked and salted and wrapped in burlap for later consumption. The men complained piteously. Could they please have something other than pork to eat? Fish would be good. Or frogs. Or freshwater crabs and turtles.

Cap'n Booger put the men to scraping and painting—always something in need of that on a boat. Having nothing better to occupy their off time, they fished and went foraging for wild oranges, mushrooms and other edible vegetation. Few knew or cared that it was Thanksgiving eve. Certainly not Jess, who'd spent the better part of both days lying on his bunk staring up at the overhead and contemplating the advisability of the whole venture.

Perhaps he should have left well enough alone. But what about his niece... Samantha? There was her inheritance to consider—after all, it _was_ hers... as the last female of the line. He had... what was it Painter had called it?... a _moral obligation_ to ensure she got it. If she were still alive, that is. As evidence to the contrary had accumulated, he _could've_ called off the search at any time, gone home and admitted defeat. But could he have lived with the knowledge of 'maybe' the rest of his life? No. Not good enough.

Alcide worried over him like an old maid with an aging cat. Eat this! Drink that! Even Jay Dee, though unaware of what was transpiring, hovered like a gnat. He'd even resumed sleeping in the stateroom the past two nights, instead of out in the open on the afterdeck with the rest of the crew.

Cap'n Booger wisely left him alone. If he hadn't been assured by both Missus Mount and Miss Pettus that he would be adequately recompensed for his downtime and loss of commerce, he would've had to insist on a return to the outside world. Though the pelts and hides he'd traded with Painter weren't great in quantity, they excelled in quality and would bring good prices. Too, the Rushing tribe's women were superb basket weavers. He now had a supply of beautiful and functional baskets that could be sold at exorbitant prices directly to retailers in the larger towns, who would mark them up and unload them on tourists and housewives as authentic Indian products. It wasn't a totally wasted trip by any means.

All was about to change with a knock, long after dark, on Jess' stateroom door...

" **Uh... come in."** Jess was just about to drift off.

Cap'n Booger poked his head in. "You asleep?"

"Just about."

"Just want to give you a heads up... we're pullin' out at first light... headin' back to the bay."

"I guess that means the answer was 'no'."

"No... I mean yes. He'll meet with ya. Painter just got in with the news."

"He's here... now? Can I talk to 'im?" Jess literally fell out of bed, dragging the mosquito netting down on top of him and clawing at it.

The captain chortled. "Hell no! It's after midnight an' he's already bedded down next door. Mornin' will be soon enough. Fix yer veil an' go on back to sleep."

Jess padded around restoring the netting and crawled back into bed, positive that now he'd _never_ get back to sleep. Wrong again... his light went out as soon as he hit the pillow.

 **Thursday, November 27th...** Some time before dawn the boilers started firing up. It would take awhile before enough pressure built up to turn the great paddlewheel. Jess awoke briefly then dropped back off. The second time he woke up, it was to cooking smells and shuddering as the boat pulled back from the bank. Jay Dee and a few of the deckhands were already at the table by the time Jess made it into the salon. When Jess queried why the boat was heading upriver instead of back the way they'd come, one of the younger crew—Remy—responded that they were moving north only as far as the confluence with Rushing Creek.

"River's wider there an' we got room to turn in one sweep. Otherwise, we gotta back an' fill an' Cap don't like to do that. Puts too much strain on the engines an' takes too much time."

"Oh... thanks for explainin'."

"Yer welcome."

Breakfast was served as the boat made the turn. It was dizzying to look out the saloon windows as the landscape revolved, so Jess quit looking. Cap'n Booger entered, looking refreshed and quite jovial.

"Uhhhh... who's drivin' this thing?" Jess asked.

"You mean 'who's at the helm'... an' it happens to be Painter."

"He know what he's doin'?"

"Oh ye of little faith. You think I'd trust my ole gal with just anyone? Alcide... where's my coffee, dammit."

The captain refused any further discussion until he'd got on the outside of a bowl of grits, a heaping helping of scrambled eggs, two fried pork chops, a goodly portion of fried potatoes with onions and three cups of coffee.

 _Slim's always kiddin' me about my appetite but I can't hold a candle to Cap'n Booger when it comes to packin' away grub. Man must have a hollow leg..._

Cap'n Booger belched with alacrity and backed away from the table. "Alcide… bring a pot a coffee and three mugs up to the wheelhouse, ya don't mind. Jess... you come with me."

 **Painter was lounging back** in the captain's chair with his bare feet upon the dash.

"Keepin' it warm for ya, Bruce."

"You're a prince among men, Billy. Get the bay chart out an' show young Jess here where we're bound."

With the _Jolie Rouge_ moving along with the current at a spanking rate, Jess followed Painter's finger on the chart.

"We're not going all the way out the same way you came in. We're taking this little fork down to Nancy's Cutoff then heading straight south past the mouth of the Indian River and the pass to Duck Lake and the mouth of the Cypress. Then we're going upriver on the Choctawhatchee."

Jess looked up at the back of Cap'n Booger's head. "Didn't you say that was the last place he'd be?"

The captain shrugged. "I was wrong. On the other hand, you wouldn't a got Painter's help. We coulda sailed up an' down that goddamn river all year an' never a got close."

Back to the chart with Painter... "As you can see, the Choc is twice as wide as the others. We're gonna loop around Indian Island to the north and go by the other end of the Indian River. After the Live Oak Cutoff there's a long stretch of nothing other than a little no-name slough to the south. Eventually we get to a bunch of bayous branching off to both sides and a couple of s-bends."

"Great... but where're we goin' exactly?"

"Don't know... exactly. This time of year when the water's low where we _want_ to go and where we _can_ go are two different things. We're gonna lay by in this slough right here..." Painter placed a forefinger on an unnamed body of water on the chart. "Someone'll show up to guide us in."

"How long's it gonna take to get there?"

"All day."

"What if we meet someone we don't wanna see on the Choca... the big river? Cap'n Booger mentioned military patrol boats..."

Painter grinned. "Booger assures me there's no contraband this trip... and if we're boarded... why, I'll just ease over the side."

"Ain't no shark gonna mess with the Painter, no sirreebob!" the captain threw over his shoulder.

 _Sharks? Goodgawdamighty!_

" **Is he serious...** about the sharks?"

"Oh yeah... they've been spotted as far as seventy miles upriver."

Jess took a deep breath. "I swear... if I make it outta here alive an' with alla my parts still attached I ain't never leaving Wyomin' again. Ain't much chance a civilization movin' too far in this direction... too many critters what can kill ya."

" _Au contraire,_ my Rocky Mountain friend... it's moving in this direction far too fast to suit me," Painter contradicted... and he wasn't smiling. "I may live in a swamp but I read the newspapers at every opportunity. Flagler and Rockefeller and the rest of that Standard Oil crowd... they're buying up thousands of acres over on the East Coast as fast as the government's turning it loose. Now that they've got railroad connections to the north, they're promoting the tourist industry in Jacksonville and St. Augustine. They've already got a lock on the citrus and minerals industries. When they run out of land over there, they'll start on the Gulf Coast."

"Yep," Cap'n Booger chimed in. "Folks who can afford to are comin' down in droves to get away from winter snow an' ice. Why, I predict that afore this century's out this state'll be jam-packed with orange trees an' tourist hotels. Folks'll be fightin' over who gets to live next to the beach. Won't be able to fart without rufflin' yer neighbor's curtains. Won't be no more places to hide for folks like Painter. 'Course, he'll be dead or too old an' decrepit to notice by then."

"Oh... and you won't?" Painter threw back.

"Not me. I'm schemin' on retirin' pretty soon. Goin' back to Nawlins an' lettin' my young 'uns take care a me in my old age."

 _This conversation's takin' an interestin' turn,_ Jess was thinking.

"You're already past your shelf life, you old buzzard. And New Orleans is already too crowded," Painter guffawed.

Jess had a question... "If you had to leave here, Painter, where would you go?"

"I always had a hankering to go out west... but then the war came along and my world went to hell in a handbasket. Lost my home, my business... everything. My wife and sons died in a cholera epidemic—no doctors, no medicine."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Can't be helped. Gone with the wind, as they say. Got me a new wife—Choctaw, born and raised right here—and five kids. Same with Carp... Carlton. He and Ollie have... I forget... three or four sons? If you're entertaining any notions of prying him out of here for medical treatment in a hospital somewhere... well, that won't fly. But to answer your question... I really don't know where I would—or could—go. If I did, I'd probably be there already."

Jess was floored. _That_ thought had been at the back of his mind ever since hearing of his brother's condition... getting him away from this pesthole, maybe even back to Laramie... to the ranch, where he could be cared for. What had _not_ occurred to him was that Tony might have a second family...

 _This changes everything..._


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18:_ **REUNION**

 **Perfect timing...** _Jolie Rouge_ turned off the river into a slough just as twilight was descending, proceeding at dead slow far enough around the first bend so that she wouldn't be seen by any traffic on the main channel. Equidistant from both banks, Cap'n Booger gave the order to cut engines and drop anchor. From his vantage point in the wheelhouse Jess could see why... here were no handy, friendly sand spits or any convenient tie-ups. They were surrounded by jungle... or what Jess imagined a real jungle to be—impenetrable vegetation spilling over into the inky water.

One reason for maintaining position in the center of the slough, according to the captain, was the abundance of water lilies indicating dangerously shallow water. The other reason was the proliferation of overhanging tangled vines providing natural conduits for snakes. Also, the captain averred, the mosquitoes, gnats and no-see-ums weren't _quite_ as bad away from the banks. Nevertheless, the sultry atmosphere was soon permeated with the fumes of rancid fat and punctuated by slaps and curses. A lenticular cloud of tobacco smoke gathered and hung above the boat.

 **Friday, November 28th...** For the second night in a row, Jess' descent into the arms of Morpheus was cut short by the whisper of the door to the promenade being eased open. Instantly awake, his hand groped under his pillow for the gun that wasn't there—his only gratification being that his lightning-fast reflexes were still more or less intact, including that uncanny ability to come awake immediately danger threatened.

"Jess!" The voice hissing his name was Painter's. "Get dressed. Time to go."

"Now? What time's it?" Jess pulled aside the netting and planted his feet on the floor, feeling around for the britches he'd dropped there.

"After midnight."

"Can't this wait for daylight?"

"Not 'less you wanna travel blindfolded. Git movin'."

Jess noted the big man had reverted to cracker vernacular. "I need to bring anything?"

"No... jus' yerself. Man's waitin' below."

"You want me to go along?" Jay Dee's sleepy query came from his own tented berth on the opposite bulkhead.

"Not you, kid. Jus' Jess. Sorry I woke ya."

"S'okay. Don't let Jess fall outta the boat," Jay Dee joked. "Hate to have to tell Slim his right hand man got et by an alligator."

"Thanks for yer concern," Jess grumped.

Down the ladder and out onto the foredeck, Jess could see, in the dim glow of a single lantern, two pirogues nosed up to the prow. One was occupied by a slight shadowy figure. The other was empty... one of the two Cap'n Booger had acquired at their last port of call and carried athwart the foredeck when the boat was on the move.

"We goin' in _that?_ "

"Yep. Climb in."

 _When was the last time I rode in a rowboat? Uh... never..._

 **Though bursting with questions,** Jess kept quiet as Painter jumped in and pushed off. With the addition of the big man's weight, the waterline was now mere inches below the gunwhales. The boat was narrow enough Jess could maintain a death grip on either side.

 _Wonder if there's any alligators still hangin'around?_

"Keep yer hands inside the boat."

 _Great. The man reads minds... sees in the dark, too..._

Drawing hardly any draft at all, the other smaller, lighter pirogue was already speeding back toward the river, its driver having not uttered a single syllable. Paddling furiously, Painter soon caught up but maintained two lengths behind. Jess reckoned if the man needed help, he'd say so.

At the juncture with the river, the lead pirogue hugged the shore tightly for a hundred yards southward, aided by the current, then turned abruptly into what Jess soon understood was another river rather than a slough. The current here was sluggish, but noticeable. Their guide kept uncomfortably close to the shore, beneath moss- and vine-laden branches leaning far out over the water. The starlight was bright enough that Jess could see their current watercourse was straight for a considerable distance.

"Where are we?" Jess ventured to ask.

"None a yer bidness," Painter said tersely. "Need you to help paddle now."

"I ain't never..."

"You'll learn. Paddle's under your seat."

From time to time they passed a treeless hummock that afforded Jess a clear view upward, which did him no good whatsoever as the constellations he knew weren't where they were supposed to be. Trying to recreate in his head a visual of the last chart he'd seen, he realized that was pointless as well... they were outside its boundaries. After an eternity he got the hang of paddling and found his rhythm though it seemed they were making little headway. He had no sense of time or direction, much less distance traveled. And his arms ached.

 **The lead pirogue executed** a turn to port and simply disappeared through a curtain of moss. Painter followed suit. Jess fought panic as thousands of scratchy strings flowed over his head and shoulders—stuff wasn't as soft as it appeared. Vegetation scraped both sides of boat as they squeezed along a tiny slough.

 _We'll never make it through..._

"If a snake falls off a branch into the boat, do NOT move. I'll take care of it."

 _Snakes. Shit..._

Suddenly they debouched into a large, roughly circular pond with a crude floating dock against which nestled at least a dozen other pirogues. Sitting on barrels on a boardwalk landing were three individuals who stood up to greet the arrivals. One held aloft a lantern while the other two hitched the tie ropes to bollards. Jess and Painter's guide scrambled out first. In comparison—and in the light—Jess could now see this was a skinny young boy in tattered overalls and a shapeless slouch hat.

 _They send out a kid not even old enough to shave... alone... at night... to deal with strangers?_

"No trouble, Sammie?" One of the greeters queried.

"Naw." With a disdainful look aimed directly at Jess, the barefoot boy loped away and vanished in the darkness beyond.

 _What the hell?_

Painter climbed out next and presented his face close to the lantern light for vetting. The other three men nodded in satisfaction. Evidently they all knew each other. Heads turned inquiringly toward the man still in the boat.

"That him?"

"Yep."

Jess attempted to stand up and found to his mortification that his legs had gone to sleep. As the pirogue rocked, Painter gripped him by the upper arm and hauled him willy-nilly up onto the pontoon, thrusting him into the light for inspection and verification. Jess thought he _might_ have caught a flicker of surprise in their eyes... but it was too gloomy to tell for sure.

The three were as tall and brawny as Painter—also as hairy, dirty and smelly. Being somewhat acquainted with _Gulliver's Travels_ —thanks to Andy Sherman's tutor some three years ago—Jess knew exactly how puny and defenseless that Gulliver dude must've felt in the land of the giants.

The man with the lantern jerked his head toward an unseen path. "Let's go then."

Grateful to find his feet on solid ground for a change, Jess found himself second in line in the queue, followed by Painter and the two other men. Instead of following the obviously well-maintained trail, they chose one of the less-defined paths that shot off in all directions. As they meandered aimlessly through a heavy understory, Jess understood he was deliberately being misled so that he could neither find his own way out again nor describe to anyone else where he'd been. At times he could hear moving water close by.

 _Fair enough... I'd do the same to keep my hideout secret._

 **Growing weary and balky,** Jess was about to allow irritability to override common sense when the man ahead stopped, causing Jess to plow into his backside. Solid muscle there, no flab.

"Sorry."

"S'okay. This's where we leave ya."

"What?" Jess squawked as the man and his companions hiked away, leaving him and Painter disoriented and alone in the dark.

"Hush an' stand still. Someone'll come for us directly." Painter's voice was a comfort. He didn't speak again until some minutes later a flickering light approached, resolving itself into a pitch torch held by their erstwhile guide, who beckoned to them to follow.

"Mind yer feet."

Jess sensed they were moving to higher ground though the inclination was very slight. And then they came to a clearing with a dwelling of sorts in the center. Enough pitch torches were lit around the perimeter to fully illuminate the structure, which indicated they were so far removed from civilization that the denizens had no worries about their light being seen. Two dozen or more people awaited them on the front porch—men, women and children. All silent. All expectant.

One man, leaning heavily on a cane, detached himself from the group and came stiffly down the stairs. Approaching Jess, he stopped short within a few feet. The boy held up the torch so that the two men could clearly view each other's faces.

Jess had called himself preparing for this occasion since before leaving Laramie... rehearsing what he would do, what he would say when—not if—the moment arrived. But words failed him as he gazed into a face he knew only too well. He'd seen a younger version of it in the mirror that very morning.

 **Gray-haired and gray-bearded,** deep-seamed and battle-scarred, Tony Harper appeared decades older than his forty-one years. Still blessed with a full set of teeth, though discolored and chipped, he displayed every one of them in an ear-to-ear genuine smile.

"Never thought I'd see this day," he rumbled.

"Me neither," Jess mumbled, feeling tears welling up and afraid to say more. Afraid to take those two measly steps that would enable him to envelope his long-lost brother in a hug.

An indignant complaint broke the impasse. "Y'all gonna stan' there jawin' all night or go inside? Bug're eatin' me alive an' m'arm's gettin' tard!"

"Show some respect, Sammie. This here's your Uncle Jess."

The youth dipped his head. "NicetameerchernowgooninMa'swaitin'."

Tony shook his head. "Please excuse the lack of manners. That one's wild as a Texas jackrabbit. Reminds me of me at that age. You got kids of your own?"

"No... I ain't never..."

"Jess... you're gonna have to speak up. I'm deaf in one ear and blind in one eye." He gestured to the left side of his face with the visible burn scars that ran into his hairline. When he reached out and tentatively put a hand on his brother's shoulder, Jess trembled with the effort of keeping his emotions contained.

"Let's do like the brat says an' go into the house. Ollie put on the coffeepot soon's we heard you'd docked. Got a pallet made up for you, too."

Together they ascended three rickety steps to the porch where Tony paused, addressing the people standing well away. "Thanks for keepin' watch. Everything's all right. Y'all can go home now, but come back tomorrow. We'll have us a barbecue an' y'all can meet my little brother I haven't seen in..." He turned to Jess. "How many years?"

"Twenty-three by my reckoning."

"Hear that, folks? Twenty-three years! We got us a lot to catch up on."

The boy called Sammie extinguished the torch in a bucket and went off to do the same with the others.

Tony led Jess into the house.

 **For a domicile cobbled together** out of seawrack, stolen lumber and bits of castoff tin, it was homey and comfortable. Free rock being in short supply, the fireplace was constructed of coquina-limestone bricks mortared with mud. One large room served as a parlor of sorts with a kitchen and dining area off to one side. At the other side two doors presumably accessed bedrooms. A ladder led up to a sleeping loft. In between, a settee and several chairs in front of the fireplace constituted the seating area. All the furniture was handmade or scavenged. Everything appeared scrupulously clean.

A short dumpling of a woman with graying brown hair done up in a topknot stood by the table with three little boys in nightshirts clinging to her apron. She smiled shyly as Tony introduced her as his wife, Olivia... 'Ollie' for short. The five-year-old was Jonathan. The three-year-old twins were Jess and David. Three dark-haired, blue-eyed boys named after their supposedly deceased uncles. When Tony mentioned Olivia had been a war widow, Jess vaguely assumed the missing boy, Sammie, must be hers from the previous marriage.

Jess suddenly remembered Painter. "Uh... where's he gone?"

"He'll be back in the morning. The Edwards' oldest boy just married one of the Johnson's girls an' they moved into their own place, so Joe and Mary Lou's got a bed goin' spare."

Jess was finding it peculiar that these swamp dwellers spoke of their neighbors as would any ordinary family in any ordinary neighborhood in any ordinary town. It was almost impossible to accept that they'd developed a culture and a sense of community completely outside the mainstream of society. Did they really believe it would go on forever? That civilization wouldn't encroach and drive them out?

Ascertaining that Jess didn't need feeding, Ollie rounded up the boys to put them to bed. With his back to the door, Jess didn't hear Sammie come in and scale the ladder to the loft. He and Tony were sitting at the table, drinking coffee over Jess' letter laid out before them, with Tony asking for elaboration on each point. Sheer exhaustion won out over caffeine overload. Jess' eyes were gritty and he could no longer maintain his train of thought. He was only vaguely aware of Ollie's insisting he exchange his clothes for a clean nightshirt, turning her back while he did so. That pallet on the floor might as well have been a feather bed, so soundly did he sleep.

 **Saturday, November 29th...** Jess jerked awake... something was wrong... the floor wasn't _moving!_ Before opening his eyes, he let his nose and ears sort out familiar from unfamiliar. Cooking smells. Children's voices. A woman's voice. Painter's hearty laughter. From his vantage point, lying on his side on a pallet on the floor, mostly all he could see were legs and feet under the table. Footsteps approached. A face appeared, upside down, with short-cropped curly dark hair and brilliant blue eyes.

" 'Bout damn time you woke up." It was that boy again. With the attitude.

Jess sat up, conscious he was wearing only a nightshirt. "Where're my clothes?"

"Burned 'em. Ma set ya out some new 'uns on the bed in yonder." He pointed toward one of the bedroom doors. "We didn't wait breakfast on yuh." The sulky face disappeared as the youth trotted out the front door.

 _What the hell_ is _that kid's problem?_

Dressed in a duplicate of what his brother was wearing—worn patched overalls and cotton undershirt—Jess joined the others at the table. The food was plain, but nourishing and plentiful. Ollie was a quiet whirlwind of efficiency—cooking, serving, taking care of the boys all at the same time. Jess was aware of activity outside... people arriving and bustling around, chickens squawking, goats bleating, children shouting. However were he and Tony going to have a private conversation with all this commotion?

"I was hoping you and me... we could talk somewhere... alone?"

"You still like to fish?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Jess grinned. "I remember how you used to take me out to the creek... just me. Not the others."

"We'll do that, then. Just you an' me at my secret lucky fishin' hole."

Jess grinned. "Feel kinda bad leavin' everyone else to do the work, though... 'specially Ollie."

"Olivia is the soul of practicality. She finds ways to get everyone else to do things while she sets out on the porch on her royal behind and waves her royal hand."

"If only!" came the sharp retort from the direction of the stove.

 **Somehow, in the middle** of everything else she was tending to, Ollie managed to pack a picnic basket for the fishermen. Stepping to the front door, she gave out a piercing whistle that summoned Sammie.

"Carry this out to the fishin' hole for your daddy and uncle. Then come right back. I need you to keep these boys out of trouble while I help set up for the barbecue tonight."

"Dammit, Ma!"

"Don't you sass me or I'll tan your hide."

With a lemon-sucking expression and a bottom lip poked out to there, the kid followed the two men along a tortuous path to the 'secret fishin' hole.' Jess carried the poles and a burlap bag containing who knew what. They had to move at a slow pace to accommodate Tony's walking stick.

They stepped out of the undergrowth onto a pocket of sandy beach surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped bend in a slow-moving tea-colored river. An unlikely accumulation of flat sandstone boulders provided good seating while tall hardwoods overhead lent shade. By some quirk of nature a coolish breeze kept flying pests to a minimum. Jess had seldom seen a more perfect spot for bank fishing.

From the burlap bag, Sammie took a tin can and a hand spade and disappeared into the woods, coming back a few minutes later with a collection of fat, juicy worms. A net bag containing six bottled beers and two canteens was carried out to midstream for immersion and secured with a long line to a tree.

"You sure you gonna be okay... alone with _him?_ "

"We need time alone to talk about grown-up matters, honey. You go on back and help your momma all you can today... for me. Okay?"

"Okay. Come back for you at sundown?"

"That'd be fine. Go on now. Shoo."

 _ **Honey?**_

Something tickled at the back of Jess mind, something he ought to know but couldn't quite pin down. Oh well... it'd come to him eventually. In the meantime...

Hours went by. They talked about everything under the sun... not just family-related but Jess' checkered career as a not-quite outlaw, his hard-earned rep as a gunfighter, his new incarnation as an almost-cattle rancher. Tony traded his less spectacular accounts of working with racehorses for the Pettuses, his failed foray in farming, his exploits during the war. He faltered some when it came to his injuries and his imprisonment at Fort Pickens. He couldn't... or wouldn't... disclose what happened in Boggy except to say he really couldn't remember doing what they said he'd done...

"It's all foggy, Jess... like a nightmare. I can't believe I could've murdered my wife and that fellow in cold blood like that... but I guess it must be true. I was in bad shape. I don't even recall Painter bringing me out here. Laila—that's his wife—took care of my daughter until I could get us settled."

"About your little girl..." Jess ventured cautiously. "Whatever became a her?"

Tony gave him such an odd look Jess cringed, afraid he'd brought up a truly untouchable subject.

"Why, Sammie's fine. Healthy as a horse. Swampwise as any boy an' twice as strong. A little rough around the edges but I'm hopin' time an' Olivia can straighten her out some. Ollie knows girls. She had two girls of her own but they died from the cholera same time as Painter's sons."

 **Sammie. Samantha.** Of course. How could he not have known? Dark hair and those Harper eyes... just like her half-brothers. Of course she was Tony's daughter.

"Tony... there's something I need to tell you about. Something that happened three years ago but only came up again back in October—the real reason I'm here now. If it hadn't a happened, I'da never come lookin'... 'cause I figured you was long time dead..."

"Quit beatin' around the bush an' spit it out, Jess."

The explanation was long-winded and complicated. Tony suggested they break for lunch with whatever Ollie had packed for them. Consumption of all the beer aided in the recitation. The canteens proved full of lemonade. Shadows grew long as the afternoon progressed. Tony had neither questions nor comments until it seemed Jess had finally arrived at the end of the tale.

"I have no idea how much money it'll come to. Jan Kelly—BobCat's wife what wrote the letter—she says it's 'substantial.' How much would that be?"

"It's relative. If you have a hundred thousand dollars, one thousand would be a pittance. But if you have only one dollar, a thousand would be 'substantial.' The problem I see here is taking Sammie out of here an' proving who she is."

"Can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Can you prove she's your girl? Our ma's granddaughter?"

"Might could."

"Then why don't you come out with me? All of you... Ollie, Sammie, the babies? Come back to Laramie with me. Come back to the real world. You don't have to live like this... in hiding for the rest a yer life." Jess put as much passionate persuasion into his plea as he could muster.

Tony shook his head. "This _is_ our real world, Jess. All we'll ever have. There's no statute of limitations on murder. They catch me, I go to prison an' die there. An' with... well, you know... what's wrong with me... I can't ever be trusted in polite society."

"Actually, I don't know," Jess said. "I only know ya got hurt an' you never got the doctorin' you needed. You could change your name... you could... we could get you medical treatment, a hospital where they take care a..."

Tony grimaced. "Just another form of prison. In no time I'd be a droolin' idiot in a straitjacket in a padded cell. No. We're better off here. Our community looks after its own. What would happen to Olivia and the children in the outside world? Who'd take care of them?"

"Well... I would. No question."

"Think about it, Jess... you're not even thirty. You've got your whole life ahead of you. A wife and children of your own to find someday. And a ranch of your own. You've already admitted that all you have is a horse and saddle and a borrowed family... what makes you think you could support my brood as well… on a ranch hand's pay?"

"I'd find a way… get a better job..."

"No, Jess. Just... no."

"What about Sammie's money? It's hers. She could go to school... have a chance to grow up to be a real lady... don't you think she oughta have a choice in the matter?"

"Well..." Tony drawled. "That's a whole other issue, isn't it?"


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19:_ **DECISIONS**

" **What do I oughta have a choice about?"**

Neither man had heard the girl's stealthy approach. Both wondered how much she'd overheard.

"We'll talk about it later, girl," Tony said.

Sammie plopped herself down crosslegged in front of them.

"No, Pa. We'll talk about it right now. I ain't movin' 'til we do."

 _Got that Harper hardheaded stubbornness, too... an' that ain't funny..._

Jess had no choice but to repeat an abbreviated version of the inheritance story... and how she was the sole and rightful beneficiary of this line of the family. Displaying an adult's comprehension in a thirteen-year-old body, the girl listened carefully, asked intelligent questions and expressed cogent opinions. Her speech patterns and vocabulary choices left much to be desired, although Jess was in no position to be judgmental on that score. If Daisy'd been around, their household soap inventory would've been depleted by an entire case.

"Why'd you hafta come around here botherin' us?"

"Because..."

 _How do I explain about bein' alone... havin' no kin to care about... or to care about you?_

" 'Cause yer the only kin I got." What more was there to say?

"So ya found us. Now what? Ya gonna come live with us?"

"Well... no..."

"We gonna go live with you?"

"No... I guess that won't be happenin' neither."

"This money you say I'm 'sposed to get... even if Pa don't want it, I do. There's a lot a things we could do with that money like clothes an' books an' store-bought medicine for when Pa gets sick. How's it gonna get here an' how soon am I gonna get it?"

 **Tony broke in.** "It's not that simple, Sammie. Someone has to go to the outside an' prove who we are. Talk to some town people an' sign a bunch of papers."

"Then why don't you jus' go an' do it?"

"You remember why I can't leave here, don't you?"

"Oh... yeah. Well... can't _he_ do that for us?"

"It doesn't work that way. They have to see you in person to be sure you're a real live girl... and that you're the granddaughter of Elizabeth Harper."

"Uh huh."

"That means you'd have to leave here, by yourself... well... not exactly by yourself, but with a grown-up... your Uncle Jess, to be specific. You'd have to go into town an' talk with a lawyer. That's a man who..."

"I _know_ what a lawyer is, Pa. Sheesh! I ain't iggernint. Ma an' me, we read the newspapers together when yer done with 'em. Go on..."

"That lawyer has to contact other lawyers wherever the money's at. When it comes they won't give it to you directly because you're a minor child. It'll be put into a bank account in your name an' a grown-up will be appointed to manage it for you. You won't be able to take it out an' do whatever you want with it."

"Why not? I kin read an' write good an' do my sums an' sign my name..."

"Doesn't matter. Other people... lawyers... they'll decide the best use for your money."

"That's a crock a..."

"Sammie... that's enough!"

"I ain't done yet..."

 **Having lost the thread** somewhere around 'not that simple,' Jess' attention was divided between a fish on the line and the youngster sitting in the sand. To call her 'pretty' would be stretching it some, but 'unattractive' would be uncharitable and untrue. At the moment she made a convincing boy—all bony knees and elbows, short-haired and flat-chested. In his limited knowledge of human female physiology, Jess knew that there came a time when they sprouted bosoms and were capable of reproducing... but he was fuzzy on exactly when that took place. Francie at the same age already had the beginnings of tits although the rest of her was still gangly.

Whatever was tugging on Jess' line had some weight to it, arcing the cane pole almost to the surface. The hook seemed set so he decided to let it run a bit and maybe tire it out. In the meantime he continued studying the father-daughter duo from several paces away, not so much arguing as debating. He couldn't begin to articulate the emotions fighting for supremacy inside his head. It was very confusing. Elation, of course... because he'd found his brother. Sadness... because he knew in his heart this reunion was destined to be short-lived. Tony couldn't leave the swamp and Jess couldn't stay here—not with his soul craving wide open spaces, soaring snow-capped mountains and the pure joy of racing across a grassy plain on a good horse.

A fierce tug on the line nearly yanked the pole from Jess' hand and something large leaped almost completely out of the water. At first he thought it was an alligator before understanding it was a fish of some sort. A big ugly one. His own shout of alarm and the splash as the fish hit the water distracted the debaters. Soon they were on either side of him, alternately dispensing advice and cheering him on.

Man and fish tired at approximately the same time. As Jess brought it in closer to shore, Sammie waded out and gaffed the creature, dragging it up onto the sandbank. With a long pointy snout and hard knobbed protrusions along its spine, it looked very much like a small gator with no legs and a fish tail. He estimated the length at somewhere around four feet.

"What is it?" Jess asked. "Can ya eat it?"

"Sturgeon... nice one, Uncle Jess!" The girl beamed and Jess realized with a start it was the first time she'd acknowledged their relationship with the honorific 'uncle'. Was it possible to be both suspicious and thrilled at the same time? Yes. Yes, it was...

 **The rest of the afternoon** and early evening went by in a blur of activity as the barbecue got underway and folks crowded around wanting to be introduced. Jess found himself in the novel position of being beau of the ball, with Sammie—serving as belle—sticking to his side like a limpet and proudly referring to him as 'my Uncle Jess.' Clearly he'd missed some important twist in the negotiations down by the fishing hole.

In Jess' experience, the only times he'd been at the center of so much attention was usually being surrounded by a lynch mob or a posse, depending on whatever he'd been doing to earn it. He tried sending mental appeals for rescue to Painter and Tony, comfortably ensconced in rocking chairs up on the porch and being waited on hand and foot. They continued rocking and grinning, wreathed in cigar smoke, as Jess was herded along from one gaggle to another.

Plates of food were pressed on him from all directions and, well, he didn't want to appear unappreciative of the generosity. Jugs of moonshine were passed around as well. The festivities began winding down long after dark. A few times Jess had to excuse himself to vomit in the bushes. He had plenty of company, including a few women. His last memory was of staggering toward the steps of the cabin, tripping on the first riser and regurgitating an astounding stream of semi-digested fried fish, roasted goat, berry pie, cathead biscuit, molasses cookies and an assortment of shellfish—all marinating in a toxic brew of homemade hootch.

 **Sunday, November 30th...** If there were a portal to Hell, Jess Harper was hurtling down a greased chute right towards it. His brain was about to throb itself right out of his skull, threatening to burst his eyeballs. His arms and legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. His nose and fingertips were tingling and his teeth felt loose in their sockets. There was an awful taste in his mouth of pepper and iron. His itching skin was on fire yet he was shivering, and the quilt beneath him was soggy with sweat, as was the single sheet over the lower half of his naked body. Just breathing required a concentrated effort. He was oh so tired. His belly and chest were sore from all that vomiting and he felt thoroughly hollowed out. Compared to this, the motion sickness of two weeks ago was a mere hangnail.

 _Dear Lord... I know I promised before but this time I really mean it... I ain't never, never EVER drinking again..._

Someone was sitting next to him on the floor, applying a welcome coolness to his face and upper body with a sea sponge. He was afraid to crack open his gummy eyelids to see who that someone might be.

"Hey, Uncle Painter... I think he's comin' around," said a familiar voice, reverberating painfully in his right ear.

 _Noooooooooo... NOT THE KID!_

The floorboards vibrated with clumps as someone else came near and knelt on the floor.

"Gedderwayfrume!" Jess moaned. "Leamelone..."

"What's he sayin'?" (Sammie)

"Not sure... sounds like 'shoot me now an' get it over with." (Painter)

"Noooooomakergowaynotseemeligis!" _Why's my tongue not workin'?_

"Izzat some kinda furrin language?" (Sammie)

"Hmmnnn... no. I b'lieve he's requestin' a different nurse." (Painter)

"Ya think? Well... tough tittie, Uncle Jess. I'm all ya got right now. There's a awful lotta folks today sicker'n you what need tendin'." (Sammie).

Worse humiliation was yet to come.

" **Uncle Painter... we need ta get 'im** on a dry quilt. Can you pick him up so's I can pull out this 'un an' put down a fresh 'un?"

"Sho 'nuff, Miz Nightingale..."

Jess felt himself being scooped up like a babe, held for a minute, and gently reinstalled on a dry surface.

"Dry sheet now..." (Sammie)

 _Oh. Hell. No!_ Jess uncooperative hands scrabbled to attain a death grip on his sheet in order to preserve the last shred of modesty he owned, but to no avail. Off came the damp sheet, on went the dry one.

"I gotta go see a man about a dog." (Sammie) "Be right back. Keep a eye on 'im?"

"Will do, kiddo."

 **As the smaller footsteps** pattered away, Jess opened his eyes. The room was dim though still too bright for comfort. His voice was scratchy but at least he found it.

"What other folks...?"

"Half the revelers, I'm afraid. We think it was the shellfish."

"You didn't eat any?"

"Can't. Allergic."

"Just _how_ sick was I…?"

Painter gave him a wicked grin. "When we were cleaning you up, Sammie said she'd never seen that much upchuck come outta one man."

"That ain't funny," Jess moaned.

"It is if you're not among the afflicted."

"That poor girl... she shouldn'ta been exposed to..."

"To what? Anatomy and biology? Children here grow up fast. They have to. They're not sheltered like kids in the outside world."

"That's... that just ain't right."

"Oh... I agree, I agree... but it is what it is. Sammie was only ten when she helped Ollie birth the twins. The men were all gone on a night hunt and the nearest neighbor was a mile off. The babies came too fast for Sammie to go and get help. Ollie told her what to do and she did it. She stays out here, she'll likely be married an' pregnant by fourteen. Most of the gal young 'uns are."

"I can't believe Tony or Ollie'd go along with that."

"Yeah... well... it's sort of a moot point now."

"Whaddya mean?"

"We'll talk about it later. Right now you need to rest up some more."

"I reckon so..."

 **Jess slept fitfully** throughout the rest of the afternoon and on into the evening hours. At times he'd rouse just enough to be vaguely aware of comings and goings. Missing were his brother's voice and those of the children. Sammie and Painter drifted by to check on him a time or two but seemed satisfied he'd got over the worst of it and otherwise left him alone. There seemed to be an undue amount of traffic between Tony and Ollie's bedroom and the kitchen table—the floorboards trembled every time someone trod by.

At intervals people would tiptoe across the porch to tap lightly at the frame of the open front door. Painter and Sammie took turns getting up to meet them. After a brief whispered conference, the visitor would steal away like a wraith into the darkness beyond the cabin door.

Finally Jess'd had enough of lying on the floor, double layer of quilt or no. His back hurt, his joints ached and he had to piss. He was also parched and feeling hollow-bellied. Sitting up, he gathered the sheet about himself and attempted to stand up, only to wobble back down. His legs didn't seem to have any bones in them and he was assailed by dizziness. Of course, that attracted the attention of Painter and Sammie and an unknown older woman sharing the table.

"I need my clothes," he complained.

Sammie got up. "Ma warshed 'em this mornin' an' hung 'em out to dry. They's probably damp agin but I'll go an' fetch 'em for ya."

"Thanks, Sammie."

Unceremoniously dumping the bundle in Jess' lap upon her return, the girl made no move to leave the room. Painter murmured a few words to the woman, who nodded and stood up.

"Come, Sammie. Let's give the men some privacy. You can help me change the sheets on the boys' bed. I expect I'll be here all night."

"Yes m'am."

 _What? No argument? Is she sick? Wait... what's goin' on?_

With Painter's assistance, Jess was able to care of his immediate needs, dress and make it to the table though still shaky.

 **With a sickening premonition** that he already knew the answer, Jess asked anyway.

"It's Tony, ain't it?" _Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm._

"I'm afraid so."

"What happened?"

"Food poisoning... you both had it. Normally it's not life-threatening if you're young and healthy... but for someone with a pre-existing condition, it can be fatal."

"Is he...?"

"No. But it don't look good."

"This can't be happenin'. It ain't fair... I only just found 'im." Jess stood up too quickly, almost toppling over. "I wanna see 'im."

Painter leaped up and pushed him back into the chair. "Ollie's with him... she's been up since last night. Keep your voice down. This isn't a good time."

"I keep hearin' about this 'condition' but won't nobody tell me what's really wrong with 'im..."

"I could try to explain it but that lady in there with Sammie can do it better. She was a nurse at the prison during the war."

"A _Yankee_ nurse?" Jess queried with disdain, forgetting for the moment how much he owed to the former Yankee nurse back home in Wyoming.

Painter's face hardened and his voice went cold. "Miss McCord's a native of Mobile. She was head matron of the surgical nursing staff at City Hospital when the city surrendered, lost her position to a man from up north. She accepted a similiar job at the prison, thinking to help our boys in whatever way possible."

"I 'pologize, then. She live out here, too?"

"No. She lives in Freeport. Runs a clinic there for poor folks an' provides us with whatever medical supplies they can spare. Comes out every month or so and does whatever doctorin' she can, too. The only reason I know the details of what happened to Carl is she told me. Best ask her directly when she comes out. I'm gonna make some coffee and fix you somethin' to eat, you want it."

"Yeah, thanks. An' I'm sorry for jumpin' to conclusions."

"Apology accepted. Now then, may I suggest the chicken broth and dry toast?" Painter was making a feeble attempt at humor. "Unless you're looking for a repeat of yesterday's performance?"

Jess blanched at the thought. "Reckon I'll have a piece a toast."

"Comin' right up. No pun intended."

 **Matilda McCord was a tall,** angular woman with a hawklike nose, a forbidding thin-lipped visage and frizzy gray hair that refused to stay confined to its net. Attired in utilitarian black under a white apron fashioned from a bedsheet, she exuded an aura of authority, reminding Jess (unpleasantly) of another head nurse with whom he'd crossed swords, metaphorically speaking, and lost. He decided to be polite to this one.

Advised of Jess' relationship to Carlton and his interest in knowing what, exactly, was wrong with his brother, the woman took on a more benign aspect. Somehow her precisely enunciated words with a genteel Southern inflection had a soothing effect.

"You were a soldier?"

"Yes, m'am."

"How much do you know about shrapnel wounds?"

"Not much. Never had one though I been shot up plenty a times."

"And are you still carrying around any mementos of those injuries... such as a projectile that proved unextractable?"

"You mean a bullet? Oh... no, m'am. They always managed to get 'em out. Not always before they festered, though. Nearly didn't make it a couple a times."

"What about birdshot or buckshot?"

Jess squirmed a bit. "Well... yeah... once when I was a kid. Got caught stealin' eggs an' the farmer, he peppered my... he got me with his birdgun. Took my ma forever to pick out all them little bitty pellets."

"Imagine if you will, an explosion that propels into your head and body hundreds of tiny irregularly-shaped shards of metal that penetrate so deeply they can't be located, much less removed, no matter how diligently pursued by a surgeon."

"I'd druther not. Is that what happened to Tony... er... Carlton?"

" **Precisely. He was brought to us** more dead than alive. Doctor Ainsworth was of the opinion the man wouldn't last the night. However, as we had no other surgical patients that day, he determined to take his time removing as much of the shrapnel as he could reasonably get at. Don't get me wrong... he was not viewing your brother as an experiment or a test subject. I had then and still do have the utmost respect for Doctor Ainsworth's abilities and devotion to the medical profession... even though he was a Yankee.

"He labored for hours, expecting the patient to perish at any moment. As surgical assistant, I stayed right by his side until it was decided we had done all we could. Against all odds, Captain Harper survived.

"Over the ensuing weeks, pieces of metal continued working their way outward to where they could be visibly detected or felt below the epidermis. We removed these as well. Although Captain Harper made progress, physically, he wasn't responding quite as well as we'd hoped. His mental faculties were compromised—there were many more fragments lodged within his skull. Unfortunately, medical science has not yet provided us with the means to address this sort of injury. The doctor theorized that some of these fragments had, or would at some point in the near future, become free-floating. He believed that the potential danger of intracranial ischemia and cerebral infarction..."

Painter interrupted. "Plainer language, please, Tilda."

"Oh...yes... of course. Depending on the severity of the event, any arterial blockage to the brain can— _will_ —result in cognitive or motor failure, paralysis and eventual death. Doctor Ainsworth gave Carlton, at the time of his discharge, no more than a year to live."

"But it's been seven years an' he's still alive," Jess objected.

"Indeed. If ever there were a miracle, he is a walking example. But I must point out that over the course of those seven years, the predicted failures have occurred. Loss of hearing followed by loss of vision. Weakness of limb. Spells of mental aberration during which Captain Harper becomes unstable and violent. His physical decline has advanced at an alarming rate over the past year or so. He's experienced a number of minor apoplectic events from which he's managed to recover. The one he suffered last night is not minor. It is my opinion that he has now reached the end of that grace period. He is currently unresponsive and appears to be in a comatose state. His heartbeat is irregular, his pulse weak and his breathing labored.

"I'm very sorry, Mister Harper, but your brother will most likely not survive much longer."

 _This's gotta be a bad dream... a nightmare... pretty soon I'll wake up an' Tony'll be walkin' out the bedroom door... No. It's real. I got here just in time to watch him die._

"Can I ask you somethin', Miz McCord?"

"Of course."

"Why now? Was it too much excitement... me showin' up unexpected after twenty years?"

Painter and the woman exchanged a glance that Jess missed. He didn't see the other man's negative nod.

"I'm convinced that what has happened is a direct result of shellfish poisoning. I've been told that you yourself have just experienced the extreme muscular contractions that occur as the body attempts to rid itself of the substances creating the toxins. This places undue stress on organs, particularly the heart, which in turn causes one's blood pressure to rise astronomically. This sudden upsurge in the circulatory system no doubt dislodged one or more metal particles, creating a blockage which in turn produced a seizure and subsequent apoplexy. This could have happened at any time. It had nothing to do with your presence."

"I see. Thank you."

 **Ollie came in then** —ashen-faced, tear-stained and haggard. Miss McCord stood up.

"Olivia, I insist you rest for a few hours. There is absolutely nothing you can do."

"I know you're right, Tilda, but I want... I _need_... to be with him when..." The devastated woman couldn't complete the sentence. "And the children..."

"Those boys are too young to understand," Miss McCord replied firmly. "Jeannie Hagerty is perfectly capable of looking after them until this is over. Samantha's exhausted as well." She nodded to where the girl had fallen asleep on the settee. "Captain Bradshaw and I shall take up the vigil in turns. We'll alert you immediately if there's any change."

"Ain't you forgettin' somethin'?" Jess challenged. "There's me. I'm his brother. I should be the one settin' with 'im."

Miss Matilda then gave him a long, level look. "Yes... that would be fitting... if you're up to it. You're not looking at all well."

"I'm up to it," Jess growled.

"Very well, then. Talk to him, Jess, of all the good things you remember from your shared childhood. In some few cases, patients have been known to regain consciousness briefly before..." She paused with a frown. "In any case, it has been reported by previously comatose individuals that they were able to hear and understand though unable to respond." She tucked Olivia's arm under hers. "Come along, dear... let's get you settled."

 **Jess sat by Tony's bedside** for hours, clasping his brother's cool, limp hand in both of his. Assuming it would be a far reach to recall any happy memories, he was surprised to find that he could. Staunchly setting aside his own grief, he reconstructed in detail each of their siblings... and their parents—before the father had taken to destructive behavior and the mother had succumbed to hopelessness. Whenever Miss McCord or Painter attempted to spell him, he waved them off.

Despite the nurse's declaration to the contrary, Jess couldn't help harboring a kernel of guilt... if he hadn't come, there would have been no feast, no food-borne illness, no resultant catastrophe...

All those lost and wasted years... reclaimed and lost again in less than twenty-four hours...


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20:_ **LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND**

 **Monday, December 1st...** Carlton Joseph Harper, Captain, 1st Florida Infantry Regiment, breathed his last in the wee hours of the morning. No stranger to the death rattle, Jess had ample time to summon the others beforehand. All cried out himself, he clung tightly to Olivia and Samantha as they poured out their grief. Painter and Matilda McCord stood quietly in the background, knowing the harder part was just beginning.

Word spread rapidly by jungle telegraph and soon friends and neighbors began straggling in with food baskets. Several men began constructing a coffin. Two of the older women joined Tilda behind the closed door of the bedroom to undertake the laying out of the body. Objecting violently to being excluded from the process, Sammie was unceremoniously hauled off to join her little brothers wherever they were being kept.

Numb, Jess was relegated to a chair on the front porch to provide moral support to the new widow as individuals came up to offer condolences. Between arrivals, Olivia explained that while Tony had been nominally regarded as head of the tribe, functional leadership had for some time been carried out by another, younger member. After the rites, Daniel 'Snake' Wilson would officially be acclaimed chief. He and his family would be moving into the cabin on Harper's Hummock.

"But... where are _you_ an' the young 'uns gonna live?"

Ollie gave him a wan smile and patted his hand. "Tony expected we'd continue on here after his death. I went along with him to keep the peace but I have other plans."

"What plans?"

"Later on today we'll talk about it, okay?"

"Well… okay." _Not okay… but if she don't wanna talk about it…_

Jess turned his attention to the coffin construction crew. "Why're they makin' that thing so deep? That's gonna take a lot a diggin'."

"For the rocks that go in the bottom."

" **I don't unnerstand.** _What_ rocks?"

"Think about it, Jess. There's not enough solid ground and the water table's too high to actually bury someone according to standard Christian practice. Of necessity, we choose to follow the native custom of returning our loved ones to the swamp."

Jess couldn't form a mental picture of what she meant and said so.

"Somewhere out there is a bottomless sinkhole. The men know where it is—we women don't. When it's time, they'll take the coffin away and drop it in where it will never be found, just as the ancients did."

At first repelled by the savagery of the idea, Jess quickly accepted that this was actually a very practical expedient. Still made his skin crawl, though.

"There won't be a viewing although there'll be a service of sorts," Ollie continued. "We're not wholly godless, you know. There'll be words from the good book to comfort those who still believe. Those who don't needn't participate. They're free to offer their respects and wish safe journey to whatever plane of existence they imagine lies beyond, each in his own way. Tony himself leaned toward atheism in his later years."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say whatever's in your heart, Jess... or nothing at all. It's your business and none of mine. I doubt Tony would've cared one way or the other."

A woman poked her head out the door with a query and Olivia stood up. "Please excuse me..."

 **Left alone on the porch,** Jess marveled at his sister-in-law's composure and resiliency. At just about every other funeral he'd attended, the female relatives'd been swathed and veiled in black, weeping and wailing and requiring attentive consolation. Olivia Harper wasn't even wearing mourning—but then, neither were any of the other women in sight. Maybe they didn't own any black dresses. Everyone was going about his or her business as if preparing for a church picnic on the grounds. Minus any sounds of hilarity, of course. Even the children playing at the periphery were doing so quietly... no running, jumping or hijinks or getting in the way of the adults.

Worries started to encroach... was the _Jolie Rouge_ still waiting upriver to carry him back to civilization? What were Cap'n Booger and Jay Dee and the crew doing to while away the time? What was happening back at the ranch? By the time he got home—if he got home—he would've been absent going on three months. Would he be welcome back or had Slim found some other, _dependable_ worker to take his place? Unbidden, words said in anger by Slim three years ago leaped into his mind: _"... if you go, it's for good this time. No coming back."_ True, Slim had assured him that didn't apply to this current venture... but neither had really thought he'd be gone this long. He'd missed Thanksgiving 'at home' this year... would he miss Christmas as well?

 _You idiot... this ain't the time to be gettin' homesick! Anyways, you can't go home now—you got new responsibilities... Ollie, Sammie, them little boys. Where's she gonna go? What's she gonna do? Someone's gotta look out for 'em..._

Jess dreaded the letter he knew he'd be having to write as soon as they reached a real town.

 **The early afternoon activities** went just as Olivia had described. From time to time someone would come out to see if he needed anything. Lunch was served at makeshift trestle tables and leftovers restored to baskets instead of being brought into the house. Faintly nauseated, Jess ate sparingly. As motion seemed to encourage vertigo and a lingering headache, he remained seated except for visits to the outhouse. He watched as several men filed indoors with empty crates and boxes.

The oversized coffin went into the house and was brought out again by four sturdy youths, to be placed on sawhorses. Everyone gathered around, including Sammie, who'd been allowed to return. What a ragtag bunch they were, with sincere sadness on every face as folks took turns reading bible passages or just speaking their piece. Olivia spoke of her love; so did Sammie. When all eyes turned to Jess, he nearly panicked, but a solid squeeze of each hand—one by his sister-in-law and one by his niece—calmed him enough to choke out an appropriate sentiment. After which he couldn't remember a dadblamed word he'd said. Must've been fitting—heads nodded appreciatively.

The coffin was borne away down the path, disappearing in the woods followed by a cortège of most of the mourners. Ollie and Sammie made no attempt to follow. Every trace of the gathering vanished except for some men, including Painter, still bustling around inside the house. Jess wondered what they were doing. After a while Ollie and Sammie rejoined him on the porch.

 **An hour elapsed** with Jess and Olivia trading memories—he, repeating some of what he'd said to Tony during his watch... she, describing Tony as she'd known him back in the days when they were still married to their original spouses, and in the early days of their own union. They'd never been legally married. Sammie sat cross-legged and quiet on the floor at their feet. When Jess displayed hesitance about speaking plainly in front of the girl, Ollie assured him that they'd never kept anything from her.

Jess was distracted when Snake came outside. "We're done. You ready?"

 _Ready for what?_

"I am."

A line of bearers marched single file down the steps and across the open space toward the path. Sammie got up and followed them. Jess then understood that the reason Ollie'd gone inside earlier was to oversee the decommissioning of her household. When she'd mentioned moving out, he'd assumed it meant in a day or two... or maybe next week.

Painter was the last one out, closing the door behind him. "Time to go."

Jess jumped up. "Hold on just a dadgum minute... where we goin'?"

" ' _Down to the sea in ships,'_ " Painter quoted enigmatically before setting off with Ollie's arm tucked under his elbow. "You stayin' or comin'?"

Evidently no explanations were to be forthcoming at this time. Jess followed, grumbling to himself all the way.

 **The hidden basin** —which they reached by a much more direct route than Jess had been brought in by—was packed with pirogues ready to move out with their loads. Sammie was already installed in one, looking both excited and a little scared. As soon as Ollie was settled in one of the larger vessels her three sons were handed down. Painter invited Jess to share his pirogue and the procession of little boats was on its way. Theirs was the last one in line.

"Where we goin'?" Jess asked again, looking over his shoulder with an angry edge to his voice.

Painter grinned. "Where you think? To the _Jolie Rouge_ , of course. We're goin' to Boggy, soon's we load all Ollie's belongings."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. It's all arranged."

Jess was damned sick of being told 'everything's arranged' without further enlightenment and had a considerable amount to say about it as they paddled downstream. Painter just laughed at him.

 **In daylight, the surroundings** weren't nearly as disconcerting as they'd appeared to a confirmed land dweller in the middle of the night with Painter paddling at a maddeningly leisure pace. Jess was relieved when the sternwheeler appeared just where'd they left her. Was it only two nights ago? Seemed like weeks. Some of the pirogues had already unloaded and were headed back. Men raised hands in farewell as they passed. Jess caught a glimpse of Jay Dee scampering like a monkey up a rope ladder to the afterdeck. Olivia and the children were waiting on the foredeck, being welcomed aboard by the captain. Within minutes of the last item being handed over, the swamp people quickly retreated and were soon lost to sight. Snake was the last to leave, waiting for Jess and Painter to come aboard. Explaining that Cap'n Booger had gifted to the tribe the two pirogues he'd bought in Jolly Bayou, the new chief paddled away in one with the other in tow.

Although Jess wanted to follow the captain up to the wheelhouse for a powwow, he had more immediate concerns—getting the family up the companionway and settled in staterooms... which wasn't as easy as it seemed. Jonathan, Jess and Davey were full of piss and vinegar... overexcited as little people tend to be when thrust into an alien environment full of enticing sights and sounds and gadgets and widgets. Quick as lizards, too. More than once Jess had to dive for a toddler before he tumbled overboard.

 _I'm never EVER havin' kids. This's like tryin' ta herd cats…_

 **Getting the squirming youngsters** up a slippery, circular metal staircase proved nerve-wracking. Jess wrangled below while Painter carried them up one at a time. The boys were fast entering the whining and squabbling phase that precedes bedtime. Ever helpful, Alcide showed Olivia to a cabin equipped with an exterior lock for the purpose of incarcerating unruly guests. There was nothing in there they could break or on which they could hurt themselves. Thanking Jess and Painter for their assistance, Olivia advised she and Sammie would be engaged for the next hour in putting the three little boys to bed, after which they would retreat to their own stateroom next door to 'freshen up'.

"You two could do with some freshening up yourselves," Olivia remarked before closing the door.

Left standing in the passageway,the men agreed their appearance could certainly do with some immediate improvement. Anticipating their needs, Alcide met them at the doors of their respective cabins with soap, towels and pitchers of hot water water.

Jess determined that his first order of business was getting get rid of that beard although it was past the prickly stage. With the swamp behind him, it was no longer necessary to blend in. A little stubble acquired out on trail every now and then was one thing, but he'd never felt comfortable with a hairy face or even a soupstrainer. When he stepped out on the promenade to empty the basin, he encountered Painter doing the very same thing. They both did a double-take and started laughing.

"Yer wife ain't gonna recognize ya."

"Might give 'er a fright... she's never seen me without it."

"Er... why _did_ you shave it off, Painter?"

"Don't want to give Miss Pettus a fright, neither."

"Hold on... Miss _Amelia_ Pettus? I thought we'd be droppin' you off at the Mitchell River so's you could go on home?"

"Got business with Miss Pettus. She's never seen me _with_ foliage."

Jess sighed. "Seems like all y'all know each other. I'm odd man out here."

"After what you've been through, I reckon you can claim honorary swamp rat membership. Hey... I'm gonna see can Ollie give me a trim later. An' it occurs to me that cistern up on the afterdeck's been sittin' in the sun all day. I'm for a hot shower."

"Sounds good to me." Even though Jess had done a cursory wash-up, the pervasive odor of mosquito repellent lingered unpleasantly.

 **The sun was already beginning** its descent when, with boilers fired up and engines engaged, _Jolie Rouge_ pulled into the main channel. **Passing by the wheelhouse,** Jess and Painter paused to give Cap'n Booger a brief greeting before going around back to the quarterdeck. With the wider view from that elevation Jess was taken aback to discover they'd already cleared the mouth of the Choctawhatchee River and were turning northward. The setting sun limned the rippling waters with fiery reds and golds as it poised to dip below the horizon.

"If we're lucky we'll see something real special. Keep watching..."

With no clue as to what he was supposed to be seeing, Jess dutifully squinted at the steadily vanishing orb. Just as the last speck of orange flickered out, a brilliant streak of green-gold appeared over the spot for only a second, immediately fading away. He couldn't be sure he'd actually seen something... or if it were just his imagination.

"What the hell...?"

"That, my friend, was the green flash."

"What causes it?"

"No idea. Doesn't happen often... but when it does and you see it... it's good luck."

"I need all the luck I can get," Jess intoned mournfully, dropping his swamp attire on the deck and stepping under the improvised shower.

Twenty minutes later, lye-scented and dressed in his own comfortable clothes, Jess rejoined Cap'n Booger in the gloom of the wheelhouse and claimed the second chair. Painter continued below to the saloon.

"I'm sure glad to be away from that place. Why would folks wanna live like that?"

"Ain't always a question of want to but got to. Sorry 'bout yer brother."

"Me, too. Thanks. Kinda hard to accept he went that sudden..."

"Just goes to prove what I always held to be true."

"What's that?"

"God's got a sense a humor an' enjoys a good practical joke at our expense every now an' then."

"That ain't funny."

"I ain't laughin."

 **Jess suddenly realized it was dark** and they were still moving.

"We ain't layin' up for the night?"

"No need. We're in open water an' there's plenty a starlight to steer by."

"What if we hit somethin'... like another boat... or somethin' hits us?"

"You worry too much. We got runnin' lights strung all the way around an' we're lit up like a bonfire at a hog killin'. Ain't no one gonna ram us less'n they intend to. Crew should be done eatin' by now. Asked Alcide to serve 'em early so's we could have a parley in the saloon. He'll bring us a light meal later on."

That was definitely sounding good to Jess. It'd been a long time since the pre-funeral repast.

Cap'n Booger picked up a speaking tube and blatted for Remy to report to the wheelhouse. The boy came bounding up the ladder and skidded in.

"Take the wheel. We're aimin' to make Boggy by morning. You know the coordinates."

"Yessir."

At the foot of the ladder, outside the door to the saloon, Jess broached his newest concern. "Ain't he kinda young to be runnin' this rig?"

"Remy's seventeen an' he knows this ole gal like his momma's titties."

" 'Scuse me?"

"He's my grandson, Jess. He was whelped up in that wheelhouse. She got caught short an' couldn't make it down the ladder in time.

Jess was speechless. _These seagoing folks're somethin' else…_


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21:_ **BACK TO THE WORLD**

 **The two entered the saloon,** where Olivia was easing tangles and snarls from Painter's hair, preparatory to wielding scissors. Jess stopped short at the sight of his niece in a dress—now undeniably a female. From the expression on her face it wasn't hard to deduce that the choice of clothing hadn't been hers. Both females arched their eyebrows and sucked in their breaths when Jess walked in.

"Look at you..." Olivia choked, visibly nonplussed. "I declare... it's like Carlton come back to life... just as I first met him at his and Minnie's wedding."

"Oh Ma!" the girl exclaimed derisively. But she couldn't take her eyes off her handsome uncle.

"OW!" Painter grimaced. "Dammit, Ollie! I asked you to _trim_ it, not yank it out by the roots!"

"Sit still!"

An outsider walking in on the scene an hour later would've never guessed that the woman had just lost her husband, nor the youngster her father. He might have wondered at the great pile of gray and black and blonde hair swept into a corner. He might have marked the resemblance between one of the men and the girl—both with dark wavy hair and striking blue eyes. He probably wouldn't have studied overmuch on the other two men at the table—one a dignified older gent with a scarred face and an attractive younger one.

Jay Dee had been summoned earlier by Jess via Alcide. The message had included the request to make himself presentable. Also the advice that his sailoring career was about to come to a screeching halt—his presence would be required in 'family matters.' Jay Dee had complied as far as showering, shaving and putting on decent clothes. His hair, while neatly combed and tied at the back of the neck with a leather thong, reached between his shoulderblades. After introductions were made, as Ollie was finishing up with Painter, Jess suggested this might be a convenient time to lop off some of Jay Dee's plumage as well. The boy had agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

 **All through supper** Jess kept darting worried glances at Olivia and Samantha, still troubled by the absence of any further outward displays of grief… or concern for whatever awaited them in the outside world. Granted, he was no expert on women's emotions—but he'd been around the recently-bereaved enough to know how they _usually_ reacted… and these two weren't. Was it customary for fringe-dwellers to carry on as though nothing untoward had happened? Was a loved one's death of so little consequence?

At the conclusion of the meal, Olivia rested her fork and turned to him. "You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Jess. Go ahead… speak your mind. We're all family here."

Conscious of the seven pairs of eyes now trained on him, Jess scrambled to formulate an appropriate response. He couldn't risk giving offense by voicing the questions uppermost in his mind: How could she be so calm? How could she appear so ready to move on, to brush aside the last seven years? And the big one… _had she ever really loved Tony?_

"Yeah… I guess I'm wonderin' how I'm gonna take care a y'all," he finally muttered.

"I understand your concern… and it's admirable that you feel we're now your responsibility… but we're not."

Olivia then took the floor, metaphorically speaking as she was still seated.

"Jess, you must think me callous and unfeeling at Carlton's—Tony's—passing. I understand your shock at losing him so abruptly... and your frustration at not knowing what's going on. The truth is, I've had weeks, months to prepare for this event... knowing it could happen at any moment, in the blink of an eye. Tony wasn't afraid of death, but he had a horrendous fear of becoming fully incapacitated yet cognizant. He made me promise that I would not allow him to continue living in such a state. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I... I reckon so. He wanted you to help him..."

"Die. Yes."

Olivia extracted from her skirt pocket a small brown glass bottle with a cork stopper and placed it on the table.

"Potassium cyanide crystals. Tony and Matilda McCord shared strong convictions about an individual's right to make end of life decisions for himself when life becomes unbearable. Some months ago he insisted she provide this to me. As you can see, the bottle is full. I'm grateful I didn't have to use it, but I would have rather than force him to live in misery, unable to care for himself. Please don't judge me too harshly for loving him that much."

"Ollie... I never..."

"Wait... there's more. I can see in your eyes and hear in your voice that you feel that somehow you're to blame for his death... and in a way, you are... but not in the way you think. In the past few months it'd got to where he rarely left the house. He'd sleep most of the day. Headaches kept him up at night. He complained that the pain was becoming too much to bear, and that he knew the end was coming soon. I sat up with him most nights, we discussed what needed to be done. We made plans. I expected every day to be the last one, yet he hung on... it was as if he were waiting for something. I believe that something was you, Jess."

 **Jess felt the blood drain** from his face, and a touch of lightheadedness. "He couldn'ta known... no one did."

Ollie shrugged. "Not consciously, perhaps. But the day your letter came and he was convinced you were real, his whole demeanor changed. And those hours you spent together fishing? That was the happiest, the most animated he'd been since I can't remember when. He always loved a good hoedown... the barbecue was a fitting sendoff. He was so pleased and he got to say goodbye to all his friends. For that last joyous day, Jess, I'll be forever indebted to you."

Around the table tears streamed. Alcide rushed in long enough to distribute napkins then discreetly withdrew. Olivia was the first to recover. "Now then... Painter, shall we relieve Jess of his anxieties as to our disposition once we reach Boggy?"

" **Yes... well... this is what** we're planning on so far... subject to alteration as necessary," Painter rumbled. "Bruce estimates we'll arrive at the dock by early or midmorning—in any case, after daylight. Olivia and the children will remain on board until the carriage comes for them."

"Whose carriage?" Jess interrupted.

"Miss Pettus'. There's a livery near the dock where Remy can rent a horse and ride on ahead to let her know we're here... although she'll probably have already heard."

"How's _that_ possible?"

"Carrier pigeon for all I know. Will you shut up and let me talk?"

"Sorry."

"Now... it has to be an open carriage so Ollie and the kids can be seen... and they have to be dressed in normal street clothes."

"Why? Uh... sorry."

"An enclosed carriage or a family in mourning encourages too much speculation—who's inside or who died. The family will stay at Amelia's for the time being—she'll come up with a good cover story... poor relations or some such. In the meantime, Bruce's crew'll unload Ollie's household goods among the rest of the cargo going up to the warehouse. No one will notice."

"What about _us_... you an' me?"

"You and Jay Dee can go out in public. In fact, it'd be a good idea if the two of you and Bruce went down and registered back at the Lafayette. It's a small town, after all. You and your cousin's faces are known now... as well as your quest. People will be asking what you discovered, if anything."

"Whadda I tell 'em?"

"Nothing. There's nothing to tell. You poked up and down and all round those swamps... met some crazy people who lived there. Half of 'em claim Carp's just a legend, the other half say, oh no... he died quite a while back. That's your story and you gotta stick to it. Tomorrow afternoon or the next day, you and Booger—Bruce—will pay a social call on Miss Pettus. Jay Dee, too."

"What about you? When're you gonna see 'er?"

"Oh... I'll hide out onboard until after dark. Most likely no one would recognize me anyway but I'd druther not take that chance."

" **Can we talk about my money now?"** Sammie spoke up bluntly.

"Samantha Jane Harper!" her mother remonstrated. "Now's not the time."

"Why not? Uncle Jess wouldn'ta a come here in the first place 'cept for that 'heritance. An' we're gonna need it, ain't we? Daddy said we're gonna need a lawyer."

"Sammie has a point. Jess... have you given any thought as to how you're going to handle this, as next of kin and default head of household—such as it is?" Painter said.

"Ollie an' the kids're gonna need a man around to look after 'em," Jess agreed, "but I don't know much about lawyers."

"I'm sure Miss Pettus can recommend a good attorney. You should plan on hanging around awhile… until the ball gets rolling, anyway."

 _I'm way ahead a you on that one, Painter. I ain't goin' nowhere. Don't know how, yet… but I'll find a way to look after 'em…_

 **A thoughtful silence** descended on the group.

"I'll have to look for work," Olivia sighed. "It's been almost fifteen years since I taught school but there must be something I can do... cooking or housekeeping..."

"You could allus get married again, Ma," Sammie contributed in all seriousness.

Heads and eyebrows jerked up.

"You ain't that old an' there's fellers what like older women an' maybe wouldn't mind takin' on a ready-made family."

Ollie's mouth twitched at the corners. Painter was about to bust a gut.

"Oh... I don't know about that, child."

"Why, just last month Jamie Lee Ferrell married up with Lurleen Potter. He ain't but nineteen an' she's lots older'n you an' got six young 'un's," the girl proclaimed smugly.

"Jamie Lee's backwards, Sammie... you know that. And Lurleen's an idiot. They haven't got half a brain between them. We can only hope they won't breed."

"What about Uncle Jess, then? I heerd 'im tell Pa he ain't spoke for."

Jess had been in the process of drinking coffee. He started coughing and it spurted out his nose. Jay Dee thumped on his back.

Sammie plowed on enthusiastically. "You wouldn't mind layin' up with Uncle Jess, wouldja, Ma? He's right fine lookin' an' he reminds me a Pa 'afore he growed that beard..."

"Sammie! Please!" Olivia dissolved in helpless laughter. "I hardly think Uncle Jess would entertain any such notion."

"Well, why not? The babies ain't gonna know the difference when they get older an' maybe you won't, neither... after a while, that is."

Jay Dee was still pounding away on his gagging cousin, trying mightily not to laugh out loud. It was contagious. Soon Alcide stuck his head out from the passageway to see what had all these folks in such hysterics.

Painter was dabbing at his face with his already soggy napkin. "Olivia... that girl of yours has a prime future as a _shadkhnte._ "

"What's that?" Sammie queried.

"A Jewish matchmaker."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I'll choose my own future husbands, thank you very much."

Sammie wasn't to be deterred.

" **Okay then... how about if I married up with 'im?** I'll be fourteen pretty soon ifn he don't mind waitin' a spell."

Jess nearly fell out of his chair as Painter gently pointed out that that wasn't going to happen, either. "He's your uncle... you can't marry him... that's incest."

"Oh yeah... what about a cousin, then? Like him... he'd do. He's big an' strong an' not too bad-lookin'. He could take care a us an' I wouldn't mind layin' up with 'im." Eyes followed her finger pointing to an unsuspecting Jay Dee, unleashing a fresh round of smothered laughter. Jay Dee responded with good grace and remarkable gallantry.

"Sammie... I'd be proud to have a pretty little gal like you as my wife... but unlike Cousin Jess, I'm already engaged."

"For real?" Sammie sounded disappointed.

"Yes m'am. Suellen Gates an' I are gettin' hitched soon as I get home to California."

"Well, shit!"

"Samantha!"

"May I say something, Olivia?" Painter asked, looking serious as all get out. "If I didn't already have a wife I'd be first in line puttin' in my bid."

"Hear, hear!" Cap'n Booger seconded. "An' if I didn't already have me two wives plus a mistress back in Galveston I'd be challengin' 'im for yer favor, fair lady!"

Sammie scowled while Olivia blushed. "I thank both you gentlemen for the compliment... but I really do have other plans despite what my precocious daughter has in mind. We'll have no more talk of marriage, if you please."

 _Jess was thinking he was pretty sure he knew who that island mistress might be. Lucky bastard! As for the two wives... he recalled his friend Kim who'd started out with two wives and seven children before acquiring a new wife and three more kids... and look how well that'd worked out._


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22:_ **FAREWELL**

 _ **Dear Mom and Dad...**_ _Here we are back in Boggy Town after spending a week in the deepest, darkest swamp you can imagine. Like something out of Grimm's fairy tales. There is a lot to tell but some of it will have to wait until I get home. It is just too complicated and there is a 'privacy factor' involved. Frankly, I think what that really means is that there are secrets to be kept from the law. Have met some interesting and extraordinary people. I'm glad I came along. I do not mind not getting to see New York City or places like that... they are just cities like San Francisco and will still be there next year._

 _Dad... if you think the Wild West is wild, you should come on down to Florida. There are smugglers and pirates and feral people who live like savages way back in the swamps where no one can find them. Turns out Jess' brother was one of these people but I am getting ahead of myself. There are not any actual Indians that I have seen._

 _The first wild man we met was Painter, who was a Rebel officer and a friend of Jess' brother. He did not want to help at first but changed his mind and became our guide. We rode the Jolie Rouge up and down rivers and sloughs for days before Jess got solid information about Tony (that is his brother). These people are very careful about their hideouts as most of them are wanted by the law. Jess and Painter had to go in a pirogue at night secretly to meet him. A pirogue is a boat sort of like a canoe but made out of a hollowed out log, in case you did not know. I had to stay onboard the sternwheeler so all I know is what I have been told._

 _They were gone over two days and came back with Tony's second wife Olivia and three little boys and Tony's daughter by his first wife. Her name is Samantha and she is a wildcat! Tony died unexpectedly the night after he and Jess met after twenty-three years. I do not know the details yet but I do not think violence was involved._

 _Anyway, we pulled into the dock here in Boggy right at dawn. A carriage came to take away Miz Ollie and her four children to the home of Miss Amelia Pettus, whom I have not met yet but will when we go for lunch. Captain Booger and Jess and I are staying at the Lafayette Hotel again. We might be here a few more weeks. It depends on how long it takes to find a lawyer and get started on the petition to claim Samantha's inheritance._

 _I guess I should back up here. Jess said to be sure to tell you that he does not feel too badly about NOT being the last man standing in the inheritance race. It would have been nice to have the money but Samantha is the last surviving female in his line so it is rightfully hers. It occurs to me Jess didn't have to tell anyone about his brother's family, or about Sammie (as she likes to be called). He could have just lied and said he never found them and claimed the money for himself and they would never have known anything about it. Just like you said, Dad... he is an honorable man and I am very proud to be his friend and relative._

 _Love and miss you, your son Jay Dee_

 _P.S. I got a marriage proposal from Sammie. She was dead serious. She is also 13 years old and has a lot of finishing school ahead of her. I suspect the teachers will be finished before she is, ha ha. Anyway, I did not want to hurt her feelings so I said I was already engaged. (Not true, Mom! Not true, so do NOT faint.)_

 _ **Dear Slim and Daisie...**_ _We are back in Boggy where there is a post office. I got so much to tell you but it is a long story and some of it not so good. Found my brother right before he died from old war wounds. Left a family: wife Olivia age 38, Samantha age 13, Jonathan age 5, twins Jess and Davey age 3. They are at a friend's house right now but someone has to take care of them and I reckon you know what that means. I guess you better go ahead and hire a replacement for me as I don't know when I will be back. I am really sorry._

 _Hope you all have a good Christmas._

 _Jess_

 **Thursday, December 4th...** Jess and Cap'n Booger were sharing the old-fashioned hackney cab's two-passenger seat up front while Jay Dee elected to accompany the cabbie in the driver's rumble seat. Hard to believe only two weeks had elapsed since the last visit to the Pettus' ancestral pile. Seemed like months to Jess, who wasn't nearly as intimidated, now that he knew the routine—cul-de-sac, double-gated walled estate, bell, gate attendant, driveway, marbled staircase, liveried butler, dim cavernous hall floored in herringbone-patterned mahogany parquet.

This time they were diverted down a side passage to a banquet-sized dining room already occupied by Miss Amelia Pettus at the head of the table, with an almost unrecognizable Olivia and Samantha to her right and—to her left—two empty chairs with William Bradshaw in the third chair and two well-dressed colored gentlemen further down. The table had already been laid for luncheon.

Jess' stomach did a flipflop as they were approached by an elegant black-clad servant with a long slender neck that seemed hard-put to support the tignon atop her head. Her face was all too familiar... an older Cecelia or a younger Rosalie? Behind him he heard Jay Dee's muted gasp of surprise—so he'd seen it, too. It wasn't just Jess' imagination. Without speaking and with subtle gestures the woman directed him and the captain to the two empty chairs and Jay Dee to the one adjacent to Sammie.

Jess was startled when the august, cool-as-a-cucumber Miss Amelia introduced the Messieurs Romulus and Remus Pettus, Attorneys at Law—second cousins on her father's side. He hoped he hadn't betrayed it. No one else seemed to find anything unusual in their presence. The twin lawyers both stood up to shake hands. Jess hoped his wasn't trembling, period. With handshakes all around, everyone was seated.

"I do realize recommending my own kin simply reeks of nepotism," the lady happily continued, "but my cousins specialize in estate law and they are extremely good at what they do. Rem and Rom were near the top of the first graduating class of Howard University School of Law. We're terribly proud of them.

"Olivia had a brief meeting with them yesterday and they have agreed to represent her, on her daughter's behalf, in the pursuit of Samantha's inheritance. But we'll get to that later... first we eat. Delphie... would you advise Otis?"

The woman who might... or might not... be one of Rosalie Mount's daughters silently glided away. Jess watched her leave before slowly turning his head to catch Cap'n Booger's eye and receiving a surreptitious wink in return.

 _You sly old dog, you!_

 **Sammie was extraordinarily subdued,** almost listless... as if she'd been drugged. She been outfitted—probably against her will—in an age-appropriate cotton frock of pale blue that accentuated her eyes. Nothing much could be done about her short-cropped hair until it grew out. She seemed to perk up a bit when Jay Dee sat down next to her.

Olivia was looking quite ethereal in a plain bottle-green day dress of some shiny material. Her hair had been plaited and wound into a corona. On any other women it would have appeared dowdy—on her it was just right. Amelia was resplendent in another one of her outrageously _not_ age-appropriate tea gowns, not giving a flip for social approval.

Jess was silently thankful that no fish, shellfish, pork or mystery meat of any kind appeared on the menu... just good old fried chicken, rice, assorted vegetables and yeast rolls. After a leisurely meal the remnants were whisked away, a short break was held to attend to personal needs, and everyone reassembled at the now converted conference table. Briefcases and folders appeared.

It was all too obvious an unsuccessful attempt had been made to excuse Samantha from the proceedings. Her mouth was set in a grim line of determination and her cheeks were flushed with anger. Having witnessed firsthand the stupendous temper tantrum of which the girl was capable when thwarted—and her colorful vocabulary—Jess devoutly hoped she had the sense to maintain some decorum.

Miss Amelia tapped a long-handled silver spoon on her glass of iced tea.

" **Jess... we'll hear from you first.** Rem and Rom already have a general idea of the situation from Olivia. Please be as candid as you feel comfortable...but it's important they be made aware of all the details. You may rest assured they will be absolutely discreet in sorting out what is necessary to disclose publicly from what must remain confidential. As Mister Carroll put it, _'Begin at the beginning... and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.'_ No... no... you needn't stand up."

Jess sat back down after looking to Cap'n Booger and Painter for reassurance and nervously clearing his throat.

"Um... how far back you want me to go, Miss Amelia? This could take a while..."

"Take all the time you need. I would suggest as far back as meeting the men who first suggested you might be related. It was a vastly entertaining story. I'll enjoy a reprise."

"That's gonna take a _real_ long time, but here goes... it starts with me gettin' my leg busted..."

Seeing he had a mesmerized audience, Jess took a deep breath and launched into the tale, three years in the making, that culminated in today's assembly. Their reactions ran the gamut from outright laughter to expressions of sympathy. The twin lawyers made copious notes throughout. At the story's conclusion, Romulus Pettus remarked that Mister Harper was quite an accomplished _raconteur_... had he ever given any thought to politics? Or perhaps a career on the stage?

 _Is the man plumb loco? Me? An actor?_

" **Miss Amelia... I gotta know somethin'** before we get too far along... it's about Tony's family... I kinda feel like they're mine now so I gotta figure out how we're gonna get by until..."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Jess, as arrangements have been made to accommodate Olivia and her children."

 _There's them dadgum arrangements again. Nobody tells me nothin'. Why do folks think they can run around makin' arrangements without even askin' me what I think about it._

But Miss Amelia was talking...

"There's nothing more sad than an elderly woman rattling around alone in an empty mansion with only the memories of bygone splendors. A house devoid of love and laughter is lifeless. It needs contentment and the voices of children to make it a home again. I am seventy-five years old, Jess... in splendid health and possessed of all my teeth and most of my marbles. I intend to live until I am one hundred at the very least, and I have more money than I can ever spend in the next quarter-century.

"I have asked Olivia, and she has agreed, to reside here with me as my companion... not my handmaid. The entire third floor will be renovated to serve as her and Samantha's private apartment, along with a nursery for the little ones and a governess. Tutors will be engaged to attend to their educational needs. So you see, you need not be concerned with their future welfare."

This was very good news, in a way... but Jess wasn't too sure he was pleased to be reduced to the rank of useless, unnecessary and unneeded shirttail relation, now that he was more or less psyched up to assume the mantle of male head of household. And how did Olivia really feel about living on charity? What about Sammie, who'd never been to school, whose social graces were practically nonexistent?

"You sure about this, Ollie?" he asked quietly.

" **It's the best possible outcome** for all of us, Jess. My children will have a chance at a proper life and education... and I can be with them every day. Yes, I gladly accept Amelia's generosity without reservation."

"What if you decide to marry again?"

"I'll cross that bridge if and when I ever get to one."

"Sammie... what about you? You okay with this... with livin' here?"

The girl surprised him. Then again, she didn't, being already way too knowledgeable for her years. The young lady sitting there now was not the petulant youngster of four hours ago. When she began speaking, Jess got another surprise.

"Well... at first I thought I'd hate it. But it's sure nice having a bedroom all to myself... and there's a library, Uncle Jess." The girl's eyes shone. "Miss Amelia says I can go in there anytime I like and read anything I want. Of course, some of those books I need a lot more learnin'… schooling… to understand."

Sammie cut her eyes to her stepmother. Ollie nodded her approval. Jess then understood that his sister-in-law—the former schoolteacher—hadn't been remiss in educating her offspring… and that his niece _could_ behave and speak like a proper young lady when she had a mind to. More likely after having been threatened if she didn't.

Samantha continued. "I was some skeert… scared… of going to school with town kids, knowing they'd be making fun of me about being a swamp rat and all, but I ain't… I'm not… going right away. Miss Pettus says she'll teach me deportment and after a while I'll go to real school. Anyway, if Ma's happy then I reckon I'll be happy, too."

The girl seemed to run out steam then. "Okay if I go now? One a the horses had a baby last night an' I wanna go see it."

"The proper term is 'May I be excused?' " Ollie chided.

"Yes m'am. May I be excused?"

"You may. Change your clothes first. And Sam... you can _not_ go barefoot around stables. Put on those new boots. You have to get used to wearing shoes. Don't think I didn't see you kick yours off under the table."

"Well... shit. _Oooooops…_ 'scuse me! That just slipped right out. Sorry, y'all." She was gone in a pale blue blur.

Sammie the Invincible was back. Jess wanted to laugh so hard he was getting a pain in his belly holding it in. Olivia looked mildly embarrassed. Amelia just shook her head… but she was smiling.

 **By the end of the following week,** the Pettus brothers had established telegraphic communications with the law firm handling Coraline Tanner's estate and the petition process was well underway. After the holidays a representative would be dispatched from Seattle to Boggy to meet face-to-face with Olivia and Samantha Harper and to view physical evidence proving their identities. Jess had been dumbfounded when Ollie had produced, at one of the many successive luncheons and dinners, a sandalwood box containing what she called 'artifacts.'

Aside from more recent official documents recording Tony's marriage and Samantha's birth, the box yielded items Jess assumed had been destroyed in the house fire—a battered but still legible family bible in which were recorded the birthdates of Jess and his siblings (he was shocked to see how few babies had survived their natal event), a verdigris-encrusted faux gold locket containing remarkably well-preserved images of both parents, a tarnished silver rattle inscribed with Tony's name and birthdate. Evidently these had disappeared along with Tony. Their mother had either never noticed these were missing or had never commented on it.

Regarding Olivia's relationship to Samantha—in light of her long-term unsanctified alliance with the child's father—the lawyers said there would be no problem executing documents declaring her as common-law wife. Captain William Bradshaw had already signed a statement attesting to Olivia's and Tony's having cohabited over seven years as man and wife, which put her in a legal position to be declared guardian.

Jess was signatory to a plethora of documents affirming his own relationship and eyewitness report. He also sat for photographs with the children that would illustrate the family resemblance. The Pettus twins took depositions from select individuals who'd known Carlton and Minnie Harper, including her brother James 'Jimbo' Ragsdale, who held no rancor toward Carlton. Remus and Romulus Pettus were 'cautiously optimistic' that there would be very little difficulty in obtaining Samantha's inheritance... although it would be a lengthy and involved process.

 **In the meantime...** an onboard party was held to see off the _Jolie Rouge_ , loaded with an official backhaul of raw sugarcane bound for Galveston—piled over an unofficial liquid cargo. Captain, crew and guests (all male) got uproariously drunk on Jamaican rum. The finale entailed Jess and Jay Dee puking up their guts side by side over the promenade deck's railing. They'd had to sleep over. The next morning found them being unceremoniously decanted by a cabbie onto Miss Amelia's doorstep, where they'd been staying since moving from the hotel.

Painter'd hung around a few more days, concluding his business with Miss Pettus and moving about town only after dark. On the eve of his departure, after another sumptuous farewell dinner and having made his goodbyes to his new friends, he mounted his borrowed horse and disappeared from their lives. Jess wondered if he'd ever hear from the man again.

Having decided they were done with partying for a while, Jess and Jay Dee cooled their heels within the walls of Pettus Hall. But they weren't bored... not for a minute. The estate encompassed five hundred acres—all that remained of the original plantation—and backed up to the northern tip of the bayou, including two miles of waterfront property. Jeff Pettus, stable manager and Rom's son, provided them with spirited mounts—registered Thoroughbreds. Jess had some troublesome moments of insecurity dealing with an English saddle but soon overcame it.

Jess and Jay Dee did a lot of fishing, both off the dock and from the deck of a rather grand sailboat belonging to the estate. Jay Dee knew just enough about sailing to keep them out of trouble and get them back to the dock. And they were always accompanied by a handful of fieldhands' children who knew where the best spots there. They gave most of what they caught to the children to take home to their families for supper.

Jeff Pettus had a pack of beagles and, whenever he found time to spare from the stables, he took Jess and Jay Dee out rabbit hunting in the fallow fields.

 **On their first tour of the grounds** surrounding the mansion, Jess'd been puzzled by the oval pond situated on the rear terrace. Surrounded by mortared rocks and fed by an artesian spring plunging over an engineered waterfall, it contained crystal clear and numbingly cold water flowing over a sandy bottom before feeding into a creek meandering toward the bayou.

"What's it for? Don't see no fish..."

"It's a swimmin' pool, silly. For swimmin' in," Sammie'd scornfully advised. Away from Olivia, the girl readily slipped back into swamp patois.

"Huh? With all that water out there?" Jess waved toward the waters of the bayou visible through the orderly ranks of domesticated orange trees.

"Ain't no alligators in here. We kin go swimmin' later this afternoon."

"Um... don't think so." What little recreational swimming Jess did back home was generally accomplished in the nude or cut-off britches except for the few times he'd accidently fallen into rivers fully clothed… and he'd _never_ been swimming with females. "Wouldn't be... uh... proper."

"Miss Amelia says it's good for the health. We have special clothes—she calls 'em 'bathin' costumes'—to wear. Don't much like mine... there's too much of it. The boys have better ones..."

…which Jess got to view later that afternoon. Cavorting in the pool with Sammie and the little boys while the newly-employed nanny looked on, there was Jay Dee—with wet fabric adhering to every bulge of his anatomy... right there in front of Sammie and that woman.

 _If Miss Pettus thinks I'm prancin' around in my underwear an' jumpin' in that cold water, she's got another think comin'._

 **Too much of a good thing** dulls the senses... in this case, complete lack of responsibility other than to be on hand to sign whatever the Pettus brothers presented. Time was slipping away and there'd be snow on the ground back home. Jess ached for it. It still rankled a little that his imagined reign as head of household had lasted less than week, but he was getting over it. In all honesty, how could he have provided for a woman and four children? Olivia seemed a bit withdrawn but resigned to her new status. Sammie really did seem to be making an effort to conform to her new status as a 'town girl.'

While all this wealth and leisure was mighty fine, it wasn't _him_. Wasn't _his_ life. More and more he thought about home... his _real_ home... and wanted to be there. Jay Dee outright admitted to being more homesick than he thought he'd be and fretted out loud about when they'd be permitted to be on their way.

Then the day came when Remus Pettus dropped by to advise Jess that he was free to go at any time... that any further issues involving him could be resolved via telegram. The last dinner was grand... but sad—one Jess would remember the rest of his life. He very sensibly refrained from drinking too much.

 **Monday, December 15th...** After an early breakfast, hugs and kisses were exchanged... and promises to keep in touch. When Jeff brought the carriage around, Miss Amelia walked out with Jess while Jay Dee helped load their luggage. Taking him aside out of earshot, she pressed two envelopes into his hands. One was thick and bulging and tied with string. The other, larger one was flat and wax-sealed.

"What's this?"

"One of these contains cash... enough, according to Rom, to get you and your cousin all the way to Wyoming and him to California... first class rail all the way. And a little extra…"

Jess tried to give them back. "Miss Amelia... I can't possibly..."

"You can and you will. Call it a finder's fee. Had it not been for your perseverance, Olivia and those precious children might have languished in that dreadful swamp forever. They would have grown up ignorant, in dire poverty. You know what Samantha's fate would have been. She has an exceptional mind under that hoydenish exterior. I see college in her future... and a brilliant career. It's too soon to know how the boys will measure up but I have high hopes. Please... accept this from me... _for_ me."

"Well... all right."

"Do you have a bank account at home... in Laramie?"

"Oh yes, m'am... got four hundred dollars saved up."

"Does your bank offer safety deposit boxes?"

"Pretty sure it does. I ain't got one, though. Nothin' to put in it."

"Lease one... and put this other envelope in it. Leave it there for precisely one year, then you may open it. Can I have your word on that? It contains specific instructions."

"But what...?"

"No... don't ask. Just promise..."

"Well... okay then... I promise... on my honor."

She walked back to the carriage with him and stood by as he climbed aboard next to Jay Dee.

"Farewell and Godspeed to you both. Write and let me know when you're home. Better yet, send a telegram. Jeff... drive on before I forget myself and shed tears in public."

The carriage pulled away. Fifteen minutes later Jess Harper and Jay Dee Kelly transferred to the stagecoach that would be transporting them to the rail depot at Tallahassee.

 **The South's railroad networks** had suffered massive destruction during the war years, but immense strides had been made since then. It was again possible to travel with relative ease—not only coast to coast but between the northern and southern states. Moving from the southeast quadrant of the country to the northwest meant hopscotching from one rail line to another—there was no direct route. However, the rail station agent assured the travelers that with first class tickets, good weather and no blockages, they should reach their destinations in plenty of time to celebrate Christmas with their families.

 _Assumin' I got somethin' to celebrate... maybe I should let 'em know I'm comin... yeah... that's what I'll do... I'll send a telegram from Cheyenne... no, wait... better make it earlier... Ogallala... that'll give Slim time to either meet me at the station... or... no, don't think about 'or'..._

"Jess... JESS!"

"Huh... wha?"

Jay Dee was frowning at him from where he slouched on the opposite seat in their private compartment. Outside the window the rolling landscape was gaining momentum.

"What are you thinking about? You've been in another world ever since we boarded."

Jess grinned. "Home, kid. I'm thinkin' about home."

 _It's true what they say... there ain't no place like home._


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23:_ **EPILOGUE**

 **Monday, December 22nd...** There were no passengers on the morning stage to Cheyenne. With the fresh team already in place, Mose had come back in for a last helping of coffee to sustain him until his next stop.

At the parlor table, Daisy was overseeing the unpacking of ornaments with frequent admonishments to handle with care.

"I _am_ bein' extra, extra careful, Aunt Daisy," Mike grumbled, extracting an exquisite blown glass angel from its nest of wood shavings.

In the corner by the fireplace, Andy—home from school for winter break—was assisting Slim in positioning the perfectly shaped blue spruce to Daisy's satisfaction.

"Turn it a little to the left, dear... no... more to the right. It seems to be leaning... can you pull it away from the wall just a tad?"

The brothers rolled their eyes at each other but scooted the potted tree back to where they'd had it only a minute ago.

With his last slurp, Mose set his empty mug on the table and snapped his fingers.

"Dadblame it... almost fergot... got a tellygram for ya, Slim." He fished out the crumpled document from his coat pocket and handed it over.

All activity ceased and all eyes fastened on the flimsy paper as Slim held it delicately between thumb and forefinger. Unexpected telegrams were almost always harbingers of bad news. And he sure didn't need that right behind that unfortunate communiqué from Jess he'd received almost two weeks ago.

"Want me to read it, Slim?" Andy inquired gently. Slim had decided not to tell him, before he left St. Louis, that Jess wasn't going to be there when he arrived. Andy hadn't taken it well, either... not that it was Slim's fault.

Slim sighed. "No. I'll do it." He slit the seal with a thumbnail... slowly, slowly unfolding the thing, not in a hurry to scan its contents.

As the others anxiously watched, his frown faded as he read and an ear-to-ear grin wreathed his face.

"It's from Jess... he's coming home."

 **FINITO**

 **As always... thanks to and blessings upon Beta Extraordinaire Sally Bahnsen... and kudos to Beta Apprentice Raian Kaiser.**

 **I own nothing, of course... other than the products of my imagination.**


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